


The Wolf, the Jackal, and the Lion

by Jules (the_nightspirit)



Series: A Poison Tree [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Also feels and angst, But I try to compensate and balance all out, Hanzo76, It's a poly fic bc i like them like that, M/M, Mc76 - Freeform, Not Beta Read, OT3, Polyamory, Rare Pairings, Slow Build, There is a lot going on forgive me, and angela grazes us with her precious self, because of headcanons, because who doesn't love angela right, gabriel reyes is mentioned a lot, i also thought: why not revise your crap, i am not tagging mchanzo for reasons, i thought to myself: i have this idea, i try to update weekly but there are finals coming up, it is a revised version of my other fic, she is precious, some gabe/jack too but from the past, some kind of AU, then i stitched it all together and now we have this, you will find them here but they arent so bad at least i think so
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-15
Updated: 2017-11-28
Packaged: 2018-11-01 04:51:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 88,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10914705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_nightspirit/pseuds/Jules
Summary: Overwatch's reunited. After a long time of running from the past and trying to make up for old mistakes, Jesse returns to the ruins of an old friend's lifework. Someone he holds in high regard. Little does he know that the man he is looking for is the same man he used to admire.





	1. The Jackal winced and stared at the sky

**Author's Note:**

> That's the new, revised version of my old fic. I've added some of the scenes and re-wrote most everything in here. There are several POV's- from each character (Jack, Jesse, and Hanzo) - and I tried to make it obvious who is talking in cursive by each end or beginning of a new chapter (it tends to be Jack though until later chapters).
> 
> It's mainly Mc76, with McHanzo (you could count this as a poly-fic if you want, because that was my idea). I like to explore various forms of relationships. 
> 
> If there is anything you want to ask or like to add, feel free to leave a note. :) All art is contributed by my olde self, unless otherwise addressed.

 

 

 

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> _And here I sat in silence, with the sun and the mountains as my only company. I heard your song echoing through the valleys and I followed that song to become your ally. Then I saw that you, too, were in good company already. So I settled down and watched. I did not dare to approach._

 

 **A hare** lurked behind a wall of green grass. It chewed on herbs found amidst the grass and wiggled its ears, ran as a man approached; the hare startled a quiet get-together of birds. The man sat down at the edge of the field and opened a book. He tried to read comfortably with the sun shining onto his face.

Behind him in short distance, usual rigmarole kept people up and active. Shattering, rummaging, someone dropped a tray with an assortment of breakable objects. He looked back from across his shoulder and watched the people at the outpost; and as he let the wind tousle his hair, he found himself in a strange kind of comfortable sentiment. He remembered the first time he came here, when someone spoke his name in a manner he wasn’t used to. His eyes returned to the grass field, _I remember that._ He smiled and opened the book, and the simple move of parting pages already burdened him. His focus span was too short to read lately. There were times when he could read for hours without a single break. Nowadays, this was impossible. After so many years filled with diverse experience, perhaps your mind gets used to  everything you have seen and no story can ever keep up with that? Maybe it was exhaustion, or simply age. Jesse scoffed at himself and dropped the book before him, then he pulled his knees to his chest and rested weary arms on them.  He also felt lonely.

Jesse picked up the book and decided to return to the obnoxious noise behind him. He stood there and watched all these people buzzing around as if nothing ever happened, as if this was a normal thing do. Returning to this place also unsettled him and he wished he would have never agreed to coming back. Now he was here, with a bag, a book, and a lot of regret. He was a sprinter, not a weight-lifter; he wasn’t supposed to carry the trash around that other people left here years ago. They should ask that tall Russian to do that, she seemed strong enough to carry everything.

The building remained mostly abandoned for many years and now, it appeared to him like an old, dusty painting of a once beloved artist: forgotten for a long time until someone found it in the basement of a museum, thought that it was worth keeping, and then they started restoring it slowly. New colors covered the old layers, life returned to a dead object. And in the alleys there on the painting, a man walked, and he could hear his footsteps sound through the hallway. The laugh of a ghost caressed the walls, a cold breeze made him shiver. Jesse rubbed his right arm. As he pursued the endless dark in the hallway, he found his destination by the end of the long tunnel. He looked for a switch, but electricity wasn’t yet restored and so he would rely on daylight coming through actual windows. Jesse pushed the door open and leered inside the room. A window was there, indeed, as dusty as everything else, and he entered cautiously.  He wondered if there was anything left inside the drawers or the cabinets. Probably not…

Jesse sat on the chair and it squeaked. He drummed his fingers on both leanings and tilted his head as he found an opened drawer. There was nothing in it. Then he looked around wondered if he ever truly knew this person, but what did he know? Nothing much. Did he? There still remained some water stains on the metallic tabletop and he reached out to touch one of them.  _Funny,_ he thought, _how that kind of crap is still here._ Details, which conserved events in someone’s life, remained like artifacts capturing memories. There were stuck here and no-one dared to touch them because they’d release too many sentimentalities. He was afraid of activating them, too. It wasn’t even a friend, not one of that kind, at least. Not of the same kind he considered Reyes his friend, once long ago. It seemed as if everything back then was from a different life. Not him, the criminal-turned-agent. The redeemed bandit who became someone’s best asset in a strike he never cared about, because all that mattered to him were plain survival and money. Who was he now? Nothing better than that. Why was he here? He didn’t know. His eyes wandered about and he found a whiteboard with faint handwriting-- he remembered the handwriting and winced slightly. The words of a deadman written on there, little scrabbles, black on white. The ghost returned and he watched him write those words onto the board with a frown on his face. A ruffled brow spoke of focus and fast thoughts before he dropped the pen in a frenzy and growled loud. Jesse read the words and the ghost disappeared. Sun broke through the dusty windows and the particles whirled in the ray of light shining through a room so quiet, it hurt, and he could only hear his own breath.

His tongue wetted his lips and he thought to focus on his assignment: hunt a phantom.

 

 _Tic toc, tic toc._ The old clock, from bygone days, counted the time. It did so for a century, and the silver clock face reflected the daylight. It stung in his eyes. For some reason, the clock fascinated him and he couldn’t stop staring at it. He was mesmerized by the soothing sound and the movement of the small hand put him in a trance until a noise woke him. A cup fell out of a shelf. Since it was made of metal, it rolled on the ground until it ended up in a whole between two broken floor laths. Jesse rolled his eyes. He hated feeling startled. He passed the taps and left the building to enter the sunlit world full of broken machines, now without a conscious, and overgrown tanks. It wasn’t so long ago and yet, nature already reclaimed the majority of the area. It was a ghost town, and the great building watching over the area bemoaned the olden days. It stared down onto the living with a taunting look. Jesse felt small here. He liked the warmth of this area, how dry desert and wide fields took turns, and how clear the skies were during the short nights. It reminded him of _home_ ; home as in: the place he was born. It was dry, vast, depressing. This place wasn’t depressing.

Jesse stepped out of the former pub and watched the sun settle behind a crowded skyline. Someone in his ear gave him instructions, but he didn’t care and lit a cigarette. Old habits die hard, and so he made his way ahead through tiny alleys and empty streets.  He didn’t know where to go, maybe he should have listened to the voice in his ear.

 

* * *

 

            _“I like thinking about the_ good old days _because it gives you a little bit of hope in darker ones. In times when you’re looking for something that chases away all the darkness. A matter that sucks you into some sort of depression, knowing nothing will be as good as it used to be. Then you sit there, alone, because all your friends passed long ago and you stare at the screen of your television wondering why the fuck you’re still here when they aren’t. As if karma is something real, and karma comes back at you for that one lie you told when you were younger._

                _Laughter from long gone days haunt you when you’re walking through empty allies. You turn around, hoping for someone you knew once showing up. A pat on your shoulder, a well-meant '_ how are you?' _; a smile that makes everything a little less painful. Yet, everything is empty, dark, and black. The only thing that lights up the night are white streetlights. Cold wind scratches your neck and you pull the collar tighter around your skin. You smile though, because there is this song popping up in your head. A song that you liked back then, a song you sang with others. The lights turn golden and the graffiti on the walls disappear. Just like the depression you’re suffering from, the song just sticks with you - no matter where you’re going._

 _When there’s someone you know well, you know everything about them. The way they move, what they do when an emotion hits them, their talks, their favorite things. You start documenting them subconsciously; waiting for them, harvesting them and laughing about it. '_ Wait for it' _. A huff. A groan. An askew brow above a judgmental eye. One could tell many things about him by just watching him. And most of those things weren’t so accurate. Just like the song you like: you listened to it a lot and it has a special meaning to you; the lyrics make total sense and you understand them, you’ve got your own interpretation of it. Then someone else comes along and they talk about it._ This is not right!  _You’re screaming inside your head, and you want to slap them for their idea of what this song is about. You’re rolling your eyes and just wave them off. Maybe call them philistine, and then you turn on the song and close your eyes. Sighing. Everyone got it wrong._

                _Someday then, you just get up and you tell the world to fuck off, because it has betrayed you so much. Then I hate thinking about the good old days, punch a hole into a wall, and go on in a daily strife against the darkness in alleys. I see all these faces passing by; young and old. What baffles me the most are the sad faces of kids just being here for whatever reason. What do they feel when they look at these many, old posters hanging here and there? I catch myself looking at the people we once were, pasted on concrete, and I think the same things. Where are they now? Where are we now? What have we done to this world to become nothing but a legend from the past? I hear them say:_ Morrison was my favorite hero back then. Huh, he was a good guy. _I hide a smile. They stroll ahead, and I watch them disappear into one of the many alleys. There they go, and they take all the opportunities and hope with them._

_Whatever happened to this world and to us, I wished it never happened. I wish that I would have chosen different words, said less, acted more._

_Yeah, fuck you."_

 

 

               

 

 


	2. Then, the jackal found the lion wounded in his cave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jesse finds what he was looking for. Unbeknownst of the person's true identity, he starts to form a bond.
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> 
> (There is some mention of blood and violence in here as well as a short nightmare sequence.)
> 
> P.S.: I am sorry for typos. I'm fixing them right now..

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

>   _"Every now and then I feel like I’m a fraud, an imposter in my own life. Like I’m not who I’m supposed to be." (_[ _source_](http://wnq-writers.com/) _)_

 

 _I was watching you._ He heard a voice and believed it to be another one of his vivid daydreams of which he suffered lately. _Suffer_ wasn’t the right word in this context. He didn’t suffer, he walked through a gallery of memories tracing them down until he found what he needed and by doing so, he was bringing his own memories back to life. Watching someone else’s memories was strange. He could see everything, hear everything, feel everything. His hand twitched.

            “I knew you were coming.” Another voice joined and Jesse turned around quickly, looked at the empty doorway with a frown ruffling his brow. There was nobody. That voice also wasn’t Jack’s.

            Footsteps and another obscure image appeared; he stared directly into a pair of eyes he recalled belonging to a person he once knew. He watched the eyes blink and look down. The city’s streetlights filtered through the broken ceiling of this abandoned multistory building and the orange reached few parts of the room. Black swallowed the remaining light. The show glitched and Jesse couldn’t hear the words. The ghost turned around and became one with the shadows, two blue eyes still focused on them. Jesse walked right through them and beheld wooden planks in front of a window. _Why did you do that?_ He heard the voice behind him, but the ghost didn’t answer.

            Jesse barely knew Jack since he didn’t get to see him a lot for being in Blackwatch. All he knew was that him and Reyes shared a certain bond, and the feelings that remained in the broken mobile of their relationship now lasted on him like a tainted, wet cloth. There was something about the strike-commander he liked, there was something as admiration for him. He was a man of valor, so they said, and a man of his word. Dutiful. Most of what people thought to know about that man was not true or vaguely close to the truth. Gabriel knew him better, and Gabriel trusted Jesse very much.

            Jesse turned and saw the image next to him: a man staring out of a window; a wound on his face, fresh and bloody, glistened in the bright light. His fists were balls, and his mouth thinned beneath a burdening tension. He raised his hands and rubbed it harsh, spreading the blood subconsciously, and as he noticed, he looked at his palms and released a groan. He then turned around and left. Now, Jesse was alone-- there were no memories here anymore. He chewed on his bottom lip and peeked through the planks to find some kind of evidence out there, but there was none.

            His search brought Jesse to several places all over the world and nowhere was anything to be found about the vigilante who roamed the streets. He couldn’t say what was more hindering: this guy, or the guy who assassinated, or attempted to, several other public figures. It was almost as if two people strove for the same goal, but with a different perspective. Chaos. Jesse disliked chaos although he was good at it. Having passed thirty years of age didn’t make it better, no matter what people tried to tell him.

            He wondered about the purpose of accessing old memories of Jack Morrison and if those even belonged to him, or if they were some kind of illusion placed onto his mind to confuse the hell out of him, mislead him, or even manipulate him. Yet were they fascinating and he agreed to the job because he also had questions nobody wanted to answer. Why would a man who held another man so dear, destroy everything the one he loved built and cherished? Jesse did not believe that Gabriel was involved with any of the presumed Blackwatch mishaps at all. There was a problem somewhere, an underlying argument he didn’t find yet. Something that he missed. His eyes wandered off again and his feet carried him to the left where he stepped onto something. His curiosity lured him down and he picked it up. It was a book and he wish he could see better in the dim light. Jesse decided to take it as he left this building without any further evidence, as well. His feet left a trace of sounds and a trail on the dusty ground. A lath bemoaned its usage and it wasn’t him, so he stopped again and looked around. He harkened to the silence and detected no movement. As he continued walking though, the movement returned and he wondered if it was him or a foul play of his senses. Perhaps it was the latter.

            He disregarded his alert senses and took the unsafe stairs to the ground level. A shuttle announced itself in the distance, the bells of a faraway church struck nine times. Downstairs, a door flung and closed. It was the back door of the building and Jesse made his way toward the exit just to find nothing. The view was beautiful. He admired the sky for a while until he continued. To his left was a stairway leading up to another street level, then came a long archway. Out of a sudden, the memories were triggered and he saw someone climbing the stairs, which intrigued him and so he took them, too. The archway appeared never-ending, a gateway into another world and maybe, so he thought, there would be a bunny with a pocket watch showing up in just a second. He amused himself with that idea as he strolled onward hoping to find the memory somewhere between the pillars. The streetlights played with the pillars which cast funny shadows on the stony ground. An odd setting as he found. What was supposed to happen?

            A whizzing sound warned of something landing nearby, and as it did, Jesse stared at it in surprise. It landed between his feet and took a step back. That singular step wouldn’t be a good enough retreat to avoid damage. Before he realized that, someone pulled him into the arches and the impact of the grenade only heated up his face. It was then that he noticed a hand grabbing his shirt under the jacket, and the arm locked him tight into a protective embrace. The other hand held onto a weapon, at least that was it felt like.

            A disappointed groan resounded not because the grenade missed, but because the sudden guard had to give up his cover. He wanted to hide and watch the agent look for him, from behind the pillars, from the shadows. Jesse shook his head to wake up, and he rose his hand to push the arm off his chest. In a swift move, he turned around and rested the now free hand on his gun. He was, par usual, ready to shoot.  He rose his brows taken aback by the event which unfolded before him: it was the other one he was looking for. _That guy_ who ran through the streets of Dorado and avenged all kinds of minor crimes. Jesse laughed sardonic, and his nose wrinkled in disbelief. “Good show!” He said.

            The other one said nothing, and Jesse felt light judgement burning through his hot skin. It ached. It also was quite a familiar feeling.

            “You’re welcome.” A rough voice behind a mask replied. It was harsh and it felt like sandpaper on velvet.

            Jesse holstered his weapon. “You following me?” He said sloppy. He didn’t care about sounding adequate or correct right now, because his mind was too exhausted. “Which is funny, if you think of it since I was following you, too! What a coincidence.”

            “You shouldn’t be here.” The stranger replied as he decided to let it go and try to evade the situation as fast as possible.

            “Now you’re being vague and mysterious as every other anti-hero who saved the damsel in distress; I get it.”

            “You don’t get it and you shouldn’t be here. I’m not kidding when I say that. Also stop chasing ghosts. It’s ridiculous.”

            “If it is so ridiculous then why are you shadowing me?”

            Jesse heard an overloaded sigh and _the guy_ flipped him off as he wanted to depart for good.

            “Do you think I’m letting you go just like that?” Jesse insisted on delivering his findings and pulled his gun, just shooting the pillar nearest to the other one’s face.

            He looked at the bullet stuck in stone. “And here I heard you never missed.”

            “Who said that I aimed for your head?”

            The man with the mask tilted his head to avoid direct eye contact, as far as that was possible for Jesse anyway since the other one’s eyes were hidden. In all these circumstances and the danger which the other one exposed himself to by just standing here, it was as if Jesse was meeting some old friend. It wasn’t a stranger who ran through the streets, subject of an international manhunt who faced his hunter with blunt insolence. Packed with someone else’s memories and this mixing up with this, it almost felt like as if he wanted this man to combine both. Maybe the memories confused him?

            Jesse eventually asked: “Who are you?”

            The other one chuckled. “As if I was going to tell you that. I’m not that naive.” Something crashed. A loud thud followed. The masked one looked about like a confused dog before he continued. “If you really want to find out, find me first. Here, for your habit.” He tossed a pack of matches at Jesse. _How oldschool,_ he thought as he caught them. He looked at the pack and saw it was advertising for a pub. “Hey, this is too much. You remind me of a bad movie from 30 years ago with a -” he looked up and saw that the other one was gone.

“Seriously.” He talked to himself. “Is this a joke?”

 

 

It wasn’t cold, neither too warm. A breeze just good enough to feel comfortable without sweating or cramping due to the cold. Music came from afar, a little background noise that seemed to come closer, instead of him approaching the music. Jesse looked around what appeared to be a bar with people dressed up fancy, more or less, smiling because they could forget what the world outside the walls of this accommodation looked like. The pub wasn’t big, but big enough to lose someone you were with. It had an L-shape: the nook hid the entrance to the kitchen and the restrooms, while the rest rotated around the bar. Some tables to the right, some windows which were covered with colorful pots and tumblers. Flowers had their heads hanging low in those containers, missing the sunlight that had just disappeared a while ago.

The voice in his ear asked what he was doing and he wanted to swat the little bee and silence them, but that wasn’t how technology worked. “I’m tracing someone.”

“You’re off protocol, McCree.” A female voice turned harsh and he cleared his throat.

“I’ve never been on one. You should’ve known better.”

“I only worry about your safety.”

“Don’t. I’m good.” Jesse scanned faces, wondering if anyone heard his mumbled conversation but they didn’t. He sat at the bar and ordered whiskey. It wasn’t too busy, just enough to enjoy anonymity. The bartender spoke Spanish with him and he replied in the same language. Of course the personnel would notice he was a foreigner, they all knew what was going on, but no-one dared to say it aloud. It was an open secret.

He sat at the end of the bar, on purpose, and next to him was the dimly lit path to the kitchen and restrooms. Jesse kept waiting for someone to appear, even though his hopes were low and he should try to find more evidence for what happened with Morrison and Reyes. That was his job anyway, and not trying to converse with a vigilante who punched gang members in the face. It was funny, anyway. An American trying to do his job abroad, another cliché. Why would he be here? Was he running from something or someone? Did he leave someone behind in Mexico? Was he looking for someone in Mexico?

Jesse sipped on the drink and stared into the glass.

A hand rested on the wooden counter; scratching the platform and played with little splinters growing out of the top. A tick: someone looking around while picking on the wood. Nervousness. It was right next to Jesse. “Is this one taken?” He heard that voice again and didn’t look up at the empty stool at the curve of the L-shaped bar.

“Yeah… taken for granted.” Jesse chortled at his own sarcasm. “It’s great how you can just sit in a bar with that outfit and the mask, like no-one will suspect anything at all!” Then he emptied his glass and ordered another.

“People have other problems than worrying about a guy with a mask who tries to solve them.”

“Much of a savior complex, isn’t it? Then, on the other hand, a lot of guys like you have that problem.” Jesse snorted.

“As long as you entertain yourself, I guess you’re good?” The cocky reply of the masked one was sharp. He probably disliked being doubted or generalized.

“Why are you following me?” Jesse asked. He looked at the gloved hand next to him on the counter and watched the index finger tap on the wood. It never stopped. It seemed that the other one looked for an answer and as he found one good enough, he stopped tapping and replied.

“You’re trying to find the solution to a five-year-old problem and you’re not the only one. The thing is that your search is a little bit dangerous, especially in this area. It’s… _haunted._ ”

“Hm. Tell me something I don’t know.”

“What are you trying to find here?”

“Evidence.”

The other one sighed and he probably rolled his eyes. “No shit. Let’s say: I could help you with that. That depends on what you know, though.”

Jesse poked his cheek with his tongue and arched one brow. “Nice try.”

“You’re having a device that allows you to access old memories of a former ally. They brought you here, you’re trying to find out what happened and where that person truly went since his death was staged. Now, I might want to add a few things, but you should turn off that communication device in your ear. I don’t like being watched.” He spoke slow and threatening at the same time. It had some effect on Jesse, but not the desired one.

“What do you think you know then?” Jesse inquired carefully.

“Most of what you believe to be true is in fact a lie. You tried to find documents about an internal conflict, which you didn’t. You know why? They are buried, too. Now, the issue is a third party, someone who infiltrated and schemed, not someone from the inside. There is a folder on the terminal in room 3.07, it’s encrypted but you can easily de-crypt it. Check it out.”

Jesse frowned since he searched that room. It was the former strike-commander’s office. He was certain the terminal was empty. He stood and moved in close to the stranger. They were of the same height. “I’m certain you are someone I should know the name of.”

“No.” He shook his head. “It’s not worth it.”

            “How am I sure to trust you?” Jesse’s eyes narrowed.

            “You either do, or you don’t. It’s your choice to make and I can only try to support that notion.”

            Should he trust him? He could find out who it was first but there was nothing to be found. He was some sort of urban legend come to life and there were plenty of theories involving him. What did it matter? He gave him another lead. _That house over there._ Jesse chewed on the butt of his cigarette. Next to it was a grey building with a graffiti of that vigilante. _I see you,_ it said. Jesse felt constantly watched since he came here hence why he found this fitting and also ironic somehow. He never thought about Jack’s disappearance, or death, for too long until recently. There was no corpse to be buried, it was an empty casket descending into the soil. A flag on the top, sad trumpets. Jesse remembered seeing the live transmission in a bar because he felt an escape was the best solution for the problems back then. The explosion in Switzerland left a lot of room for suspicious theories. There was no body because the explosion was too severe. Reyes was blamed for it, which Jesse doubted since Reyes wasn’t even in stationed in Switzerland and reports indicated he was in Egypt at that time. Jesse was, too. If they suspected Reyes, so he concluded, they would suspect him, as well. So he ran. At the end, they did not suspect him because there was enough evidence for his presence in Egypt, but not Reyes’. He thought about that a lot. No-one knew of Reyes’ whereabouts, and so this remained an unsolved case for several years.

            Jesse touched a flaw on the blue paint. It tried to cover up something, but there was a hole in the wall, a small one as if a bullet struck the wall. Nothing happened though, no memories appeared, and the guitar music from inside the building just reminded him on a Reyes playing guitar for the sleepless. He always did that. Fareeha especially liked it. Jesse smiled poignant and thought to let it go. Head back to the base, look for the files instead of tracing ghosts.

 

A dark room, no light and no sound, not even the slightest indication of where or whom he was. There was fog, or dust, and it claimed him like a strong force out of a nightmare. Then he ran and he didn’t know whereto. He just ran, but his legs didn’t bring him onward at all. He ran, and his legs felt heavy and tired. Then he sunk to his knees and leant forward, blood drizzled on the ground; he counted the droplets on the concrete. One, two, three, four, five… _tap tap tap_ . The mist returned, wrapping him in frost and his lips started to quiver, his hands froze, his eyes closed. _How does that feel?_ A hoarse voice asked and the grip grew tighter, then it let go and his limbs warmed, the ice melted. What did this feel like? It was not fear, neither was it defeat. It was an anticipation to a death that never came. Constant revival when one did not want that. Constant return to an existence one didn’t want. It was horror and pain. It was anger and resentment. He coughed and more blood spilled on cheek, dripping on the floor. There was so much pain but he ignored it and tried to find the ghost which haunted him.

            Jesse woke out of the dream and he was covered in sweat, which he noticed as he touched his face. The sheet clang to his frame, damp as well, and he pushed it off. He covered his eyes with both hands. The memories took a toll on him and he wondered if that nightmare was triggered by his brain toying with him or if it was a memory coming out of the visit he made earlier. _Was that what he wanted me to see? That damn ghost?_

            He sat on the mattress and looked at his feet. He didn’t shower or sleep in the past two days and this showed on his overall appearance. Perhaps a shower was in order, but he thought that washing his face and getting a coffee was a better idea. He didn’t feel like anything anymore, everything was too much and he wanted to escape this maelstrom of feelings that came back to life. So he got up and washed his face, avoiding the reflection in the mirror before him as he dried it off. He went to the kitchen nearby, hoping that no one was up and about, and made coffee. Stationed here, he expected nothing. They were nothing but mercenaries, willing to take contracts to fix their broken façade. Here and there a rift, fix it with crap, slap paint on it, done. Looked good enough and people believed it. People here on the streets seemed to remember him: they smiled. He wasn’t used to that. ‘Jesse Mcree’, someone expelled and he just rolled his eyes. At the same time he longed for company that could stimulate his flat interior. Someone to lift his spirits and give him a kind of reason.

            He took the mug and left to walk outside and stare at the grass. In the cloak of darkness, the hare returned and hopped around. He watched it with interest and it seemed less startled by now. Jesse reached out and touched the damp grass with his fingertips. It tickled his skin and he grabbed it, because it was cold and he felt unusually warm. His mind carried him away. Remembering someone. That menacing and intimidating waltz of that person was imprinted on his mind, and then you looked up at that face and there was nothing intimidating left. A cheeky smile adorned the face and twisted the brows, a lot of care and devotion rested in the corners of his eyes. Reyes was like a father to him, even though he didn’t know what a father was since his died when he was young. Then there was his mother, and her hand’s grip remained as predominant on his mind as these footsteps. He could still feel her hand from the last day they have spent together. Endearing, supportive. Her voice a melody, a lullaby for sleepless nights. She sang a song to him whenever he couldn’t sleep, and not being able to sleep was a lifelong issue to him. He hummed it to himself now and the moon and the hare was his only audience. What else hid in the field?

            Jesse found the encrypted folder and moved to a device before the deleting the files. One never knew. He was paranoid. Whom could he trust if the issue was an internal one? Did they pass away together with everyone else? To read them, he had to find a way to unlock them first, and there was no-one he trusted that task with. At least not yet. He wanted to find the guy again and ask more questions, demanding answers, and hoping for more information.

            The coffee became colder and he whirled it in the mug. He drank it all at once and shuddered at the taste. He tended to make coffee too strong, and now the caffeine rushed through his body giving him a new sense and some enthusiasm. What did he have to do to summon that masked vigilante? Wave with a flashlight? It was best to try and find out.

 

            He didn’t use a flashlight and just announced another dutiful round of searching for evidence. His contact judged him as he got out of bed, ready to assist him. The thing was that he didn’t need assistance and he just wanted to find out more about him. He asked her some questions, not too many because he didn’t want her to become suspicious. Again, he stood at the blue house and stared at the hole the bullet’s impact left on the wall. It was six o’clock in the morning and the sun joined the moon. He took the small staircase and walked through a thin alley, leading onward to a wide courtyard. He stopped and scanned the ground.

            “The street gang of this area likes to steal from people with the least privileges. I never liked those people very much, in case you wondered why I bother staying here.” As summoned, the man stood behind him with crossed arms. He wasn’t armed except for a small hand weapon on his side. He looked cocky and overconfident.

            “But why did you come here in the first place?” Jesse asked, he glanced at him from across his shoulder through a curtain of brown hair. It seemed to soften the other one as he released his arms and his posture relaxed.

            “Why did you?”

            “Huh! I’m looking for someone.”

            “As did I.”

            “Have you found them?”

            “Yes, in a way. Then I realized that it wasn’t what I expected and I let go. I got stuck here, and, to be quaint, I like this place but especially the people. Nothing seems to bother them and they give me free coffee.”

            Jesse chuckled and walked closer to the edge from where he could see the sea. “That’s reason enough.”

            “I’m surprised that you haven’t informed your affiliates yet. There is a nice bounty waiting for you.” The stranger sounded offended.

            “Hell, I should have done that! Take the money, say I’m done, move onward, but you know… I kind of can’t do that because that is everything I did all my life.” Why did Jesse confide in a stranger like him? He shouldn’t, but then was it typical for him to spill out thoughts and regret it later.

 _You’re a good kid, Jesse, never change._ He heard that voice again and made a face. “I’m just too concerned about what happened, I assume. I guess I got _stuck_ , too.”

            The stranger listened in silence, as if he wanted to hear all that. As if he needed to confirm his assumptions by what Jesse had to say. Jesse himself lit a cigarette. “If you helped us officially, it might help you.” He said.

            “I am done with that. It ruined my life.”

            “Do you like running around with a bounty on your head?”

            “I could ask you the same thing. In fact you’re protected by an organization which is strangely enough in high regard again, there are people who don’t care about that. People here in particular.”

            “Oh, I don’t worry about that. I’ve been through worse. And I certainly don’t need a bodyguard.”

            The other man scoffed smug and nodded his head toward his chest. “Are you sure about that?”

            There was a pointer and Jesse admitted to be taken aback by that. A second later, and he would have been hit if he wasn’t pushed aside the bullet missed its target. He landed on his backside few feet away from his former position and looked at his company trying to find the shooter. There wasn’t much time left as someone came up the stairs, stumbling in a hurry and they weren’t alone. Something rolled close and set off smoke. Jesse got onto his feet and the other one rose his gun to aim at anything coming through. There was something he saw Jesse couldn’t.

            “Leave this to me and get away, this is not the right place to search for whatever you’re looking for, and take your friends with you.” He didn’t look at Jesse saying that.

            “Neither is it the right place to play hero.” Jesse replied.

            His head moved enough to look at Jesse across his raised arm. “Stubborn.” He whispered and walked on. Jesse turned off his comm and pulled his gun, too, as he heard punches and other various noises announcing several impacts. Chaos began to arise and lights turned on, people started approaching their windows and some people’s eyes grew wide at the turmoil down on the streets. It wouldn’t take long until they tried to contact Jesse, until someone send a troop down here to settle down the usual escalation. An explosion hindered sight and people were running away while Jesse attempted to follow the person who told him to leave. The explosion turned the street into a dirty mess. There were two or three either unconscious criminals on the ground, he identified them by crouching and checking their gear. He grabbed one of the faces and their mouth spit blood, then they laughed and showed off bloody teeth. A door shut close. Someone told someone else to calm down and stay inside.

            Jesse ‘s eyes rose to find him among these people, but there wasn’t much of a hint of where he went. a n aircraft was heard. He knew it and walked on, his weapon whirled on his index finger as he stepped across the broken pieces and bodies on the ground. Then there finally was something he could work with: a trail of blood. Could be anyone’s, but sure that this person required medical attention since they were very much alive and in a critical condition. He abandoned the scene and entered another one of the city’s dark veins, leading to another secret place. Hot air pumped through those veins and wind didn’t make it through the thick walls. He snuck ahead until the blood disappeared on the ground and instead, some of it decorated a wall. He aimed as he turned around the corner and found a desolate atrium. There was boxes, trays, some trash scattered on the floor. A stray dog rushed away and ran over a bin. The sewer stank and the cloth on a roof was dirty and hung low. He looked around and found an entrance inviting him into a dark hallway. There was no light here, except for some remains of the street around the corner. He could still hear the concerned voiced growing intenser, the aircraft came closer, and he went deeper into the building. As of lately, he felt like an archaeologist more than anything else. Old houses, historical records, some ghosts he tried to understand. Drawing conclusions from long abandoned sides.

            Grunts caught his attention and he believed it to be the wounded. If this was one of the gang he had a good excuse to abandon the crime scene, if not, he was in trouble. Jesse followed the noise and entered a room with a mattress, a desk, and a cheap chair. He walked around the room with his gun pointing to the floor and as he turned around, a weapon pointed at him. The person stood next to the door and he cursed at himself for not checking that in the first place. The gun lowered though and he finally noticed it was his self-proclaimed bodyguard standing there with one arm raised, the other held onto his side.

            “You are more stubborn than I thought.” There was a pause between the word _I_ and _thought._ As if he wanted to say something else but could correct himself last minute. He breathed heavy and headed to the door.

            “Hey,” Jesse said. “You’re wounded, you require medical attention”

            “I know.”

            Jesse took three big steps and approached him, he grabbed his arm and pulled him out of the door frame. It was a little too harsh, and the sweat on the other one’s forehead pointed out to the discomfort he experienced. “I’m kind of in trouble for this, you know.”

            “I thought you didn’t care about that?”

            “Running through town with some guy with a mask is not the same as an attempted assassination, an explosion, and a few dead bodies on the street.”

            The longer he held onto the arm, the more he felt how his company weakened under the impact the explosion had on his body. The blood loss was worrisome and Jesse started to experience guilt for what happened to him and what would happen if he didn’t help him. He did save his life and he disliked seeing him paying for that. Jesse pushed him against the door frame and held him up because he could barely do that on his own.

            “Where were you hit?” Jesse inquired and he coughed, rising his hand off his side to reveal enough. Blood moistened most of his gear on that side and as Jesse touched the part, he felt the warm fluid and how quick it ran down the side, to the hip and lower until it reached the leg. Jesse put his hand back on the wound and tried to look at his face, or what there was he could see. Breathing seemed hard to him and his skin turned grey.

            “You know,” Jesse said, still trying to hold him up. “I don’t think I’m worth the input. Hence why I’d hate it if you died no matter how big of an asshole you might be in the end.” Jesse pushed his shoulder under his while his hands tried to remove the mask so that he could breathe with more ease. They were close in that position and his chest heaved against Jesse’s. His hands clasped to Jesse’s wrist and he was amazed by the force he still came up with after losing that much blood. He tried to prevent him from taking off that mask as if his life depended on it. Several voices appeared in the background; Jesse wasn’t the only one who found the trail of blood.

            He didn’t know what to do because he did not want to disrespect the wish of remaining anonymous with the mask staying on his face, but what would it matter if his _friends_ found him anyway? They would do the same thing. “You could take it off and act if you’re just someone and not that vigilante they are looking for."

            His voice was weak and it was even quieter than a whisper. “Because normal people carry guns.”

            Jesse growled and pushed him toward the former kitchen with a balcony overseeing the other side of the building, it showed the sea and Jesse thought that this place wasn’t so bad at all. He looked for a makeshift bandage and pressed it between his hand and stomach. Then he closed the door to the kitchen, which was a bullshit move. But what else could he do?

            He hurried to the hallway and greeted the small group of soldiers he expected. They scanned him and held their weapons ready to aim at any danger. Jesse rose his hands. “He ran off.”

            A familiar voice ascended and a brown-haired woman snaked through the group. “That heavily wounded?”

            Jesse shrugged with arched brows. “Hell, I have no idea.”

 

* * *

 

_“You start to hate this song, and you don’t drink anymore. You just sit here at your desk and stare at the coffee in front of you, cursing the empty space on the other side. Regrets cover your work; guilt gives you a headache. I can’t recall the many times that I stood there, screaming and cursing everyone I knew. Not everyone, just this one, particular person who left this stain on my life. Some sort of friendship; was it a friendship? What happened that you’ve had to take everything and throw it away like that? Was it something I have done or said, that rubbed you the wrong way? Was it personal? You said it wasn’t._

_I waste hours thinking about this, I stare at the walls as if they’ve got an answer for me. You ruined an organization that was supposed to own people’s trust. You are here, somewhere, seeking your revenge as if that would turn back time. But what am I saying: I’m nothing better than you, aren’t I? At least I am not hunting my own family… am I? No, there is no feeling left for you in here except for this hateful resentment. Screaming at the walls for declining answers, punching holes in them—it doesn’t compare to the things I want to yell into your face, but I am just an old man with a grudge. Just like you, but at least I know that I am not a hero._

_I am not hero, even though people want me to think that. Maybe I want to save the world again. Maybe I want to rebuilt everything upon this trail of destruction you’ve left on this world, just to show you that you’re not the winner in this foolish game. A game you thought to be necessary playing after I stepped on your toes. Should I feel defeated by you? Is that what you want? I wonder why Angela wasted all her time and skill trying to save your sorry ass for you to raise this kind of havoc among us. Are you happy now?_

_On the streets, I see kids with bleak faces. I know it is your doing, with your fury that brings everything to the ground. You said that you never wanted people to be scared of you. Where are you now? You have become the monster they wanted you be. While you weren’t back in those days, I wish that I would have known what was going to happen. I could have spared my energy in whatever we had that seemed so special. It was you who built me up and supported me, just to throw a tantrum when I became what you wanted me to be. Was it unfair? For years, I ran around wondering if it was my fault. I dissected old documents and revisited events just to overflow with more guilt._

_One day, I’ll be done tracing your tracks, cleaning up the mess you’ve made, and the people you’ve destroyed. One day, I’m going to be in whatever fortress of solitude you’re hiding, and I’ll make an end to this terror in my own way.”_


	3. Where the lion slept, the jackal lingered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jesse's facing problems, and he tries to find the newly found, wounded ally. This results in an unexpected turn of events.
> 
> (Again: some blood and violence, but nothing over-the-top.)

 

 

 

 

> There's freedom to, and freedom from  
>  Freedom to run, from everyone  
>  While what I did, is what is done  
>  The Baptist in me chose to run  
>  But if there's still time to choose the sun
> 
> I'll choose the sun.”
> 
>  

The more hours he spent in this room, the more the fear expanded in his chest. Like a plant growing fast and wild, wrapping him up and making it impossible to breathe. Just as in that dream.

          “You very well know that this is obstruction?” She said.

          He replied her question with a look that said _what do you mean?_ It made her inhale sharp and she trailed around the room, circling the desk, looking at the lit screens everywhere. The colors danced on her skin like butterflies. Her expensive jacket was wrinkled and she tried to adjust it. “This man is a wanted suspect, you know that?”

          Jesse nodded. “Yeah.”

          “Then why did you let him go? He might be dead.” She huffed and went over to a few files spread on her desk. Jesse crossed his arms and repeated her words mentally. He might be dead, and that was true. This guilt increased and seven hours later, there was little hope he would ever find out. Neither would he ever find out who he was and whom he tried to find. Or his connections, his intentions.

          “Am I dismissed?” He asked impatient. She looked up. “No. I want to know how you met him, why you turned off your device, and what else you’re not sharing with us.”

          “There is nothing. I tried to find a way to gain his trust to get other information, but I was interrupted and he got away. That is it. The device was interfered with by the explosion, which wasn’t my fault, yeah.”

          Her eyes scarred him so he looked away and drummed his fingers on his upper arms. “I have no idea what else to say since you don’t give a fuck.”

          “You can go. But don’t play with communications again and don’t try to take me for a fool.”

          “Yes, Ma’am.” He said dry and left the room full of control panels, grim-looking soldiers, and several mechanical sounds that reminded him on the sounds omnics made when they communicated. Finally, he was released from the cage. As soon as he was outside he closed his eyes and inhaled the fresh air. He hated closed rooms. It was time to find out if he was still alive or if he bled out halfway to wherever he was hiding. He wasn’t behind that door anymore because they searched the house. Did he have allies or was he just someone who could take anything. That reminded him that this person must have been involved with either Overwatch or Blackwatch since he appeared to have a complete set of skills, knowledge, and built he knew other agents possessed and acquired. On the other did Jesse dislike to disappoint commander Kambonde again, she was too good for that. One of the few people who tried and help restore this organization as well as the entire damn world. If that world was worth saving, he thought to himself.

          He was tired but sleeping was not an option and so he followed procedure and headed back to town.

          How many times would he have to do that? How many times would he have to investigate several places to find nothing? Back down there, he visited the street and watched people clean up the mess, there still was a small team securing the scene, a worried woman held her daughter tight in her arms. Their restaurant was directly hit by the detonation and she probably wanted to know who’s going to pay for the damage. He wish he could.  It started to rain about twenty-two minutes ago and the clouds hindered patrols toward the mountains.

          Jesse smacked his lips. People passed and ran into him, but he stood still and took in every little detail of the scene now that it was daytime and he could see it all. There was a lot of blood. He cringed again, scratched his head to avoid unwanted mental monologues, and went to the left, the same path he took last night. He made his way through the crowd and made sure nobody noticed him, even though he was outstanding enough with his cigarette. He pulled it out of his mouth and tossed it away to rush ahead once he was around the corner. The rain drummed on makeshift roofs and filled empty trash bins.

          “Where do you think you’re going, kid?” He saw an elderly woman judging him. “It is a crime scene.”

          Jesse agreed. “I know.” He turned to face her and pushed his wet hair back with one hand. “I was wondering if you have seen anyone in particular?” He knew that his latest friends had a lot of people on side, and perhaps this lady belonged to them. He was sure of it. The wits and strength of older women was not an unknown to him, and then he smiled as he remembered Ana fondly. That smile made the woman’s eye twitch, since it was crooked and charming, yet not directed at her.

          The rain trickled down his black leather jacket, the dampness caused annoyance since his sweaty skin stuck to the leather. He complained and rolled up the sleeve.

          “What do you mean?” She asked shifty. His old tricks still worked.

          “You know what I mean.” He ruffled his brow and looked to the alley before coming a little closer enough to not share this conversation with too many people. “The guy who runs around with a mask, got hit yesterday, and is bleeding like a stuck pig?”

          The woman cleaned her hands on her apron. “And who are you to him? A friend?”

          He cheered internally. “He is alright?”

          She stopped fumbling and cautiously looked about before she’d answer. Her brown eyes were glued on his appearance to find any clue on his emotions or anything else indicating something distrustful. “Yes. Bled pretty much. Now, who are you?”

          Jesse opened his mouth and thought what he could say. He closed it again and licked his lips. “I have no idea. I mean… It doesn’t matter, as long as he is fine.”

          “Your name?” She kept bothering him and he wished she would let go.

          “Jesse. Jesse Mccree.”

          She raised her chin and gave him another once-over. “Jesse.” Her voice sounded as if she knew everything, or at least something he wanted to know and which she didn’t want to share. Some secret that would change the world in a nanosecond by revelation. He swore time stood still in that moment and a memory hit him with great force. His sight glitched and he saw nothing but blues and greens, a person passing through the distorted view, and several noises hurt his ear. Was the device broken?

          The woman wrinkled her nose. “Are you okay, though?”

          “Yes,” he quit rubbing his left temple. “I’m just a little tired.”

          She waited and he wondered what she thought about. “Follow me, but make sure to be quiet. And if you’re not genuine and you’re just trying to rat me out: I have big knives in my kitchen, don’t even consider it.”

          Jesse showed that he was impressed. “I’m not taking any chances, ma’am.”

“Hm,” She said full of doubt and lead him through a hallway which he barely fit into. At its end was a staircase. _There are so many fucking staircases in this damn city, I’m fucking losing my shit._ She opened a door and spoke into a seemingly empty room. _Is he seriously hiding ten feet away from the scene?_

          “You have a visitor.” She said. Jesse tried to look along her shoulder from his lower spot on the stairs but he couldn’t see anything.

          “I said I don’t want any visitors.” The other voice sounded grumpy.

          “You might want to see this one though.” Then he left the door open and turned around, passing him on the tiny stairway and he let her go. With thrilling anticipation, he took the last set of stairs and entered the room. There was a sudden movement, something telling him that he really didn’t want any visitors and especially not him.

          “It’s almost funny how you’re here, with a great sight onto the street, y’know.” Jesse pointed to the chaos downstairs. The windows were covered by curtains, and the light source was a small, old lamp on a desk. A shelf stood in his way and blocked the view, what he saw through a few gaps amidst the books and the other objects was a man in a white shirt, or rather his back, and hesitation. His moves were slow due to a light limp.

          “You shouldn’t be here.” The voice sounded different without the mask.

          “No? Why not?” Jesse moved his head and tried to see more of him. He was just too curious about his identity. He still had an ongoing connection, but he was sure that no-one followed him unless he turned it off, and by being nearby the scene, there was no reason for anyone to worry.

          “Because you’re being followed. Now, I don’t think it was your intention, but it is best for you to go.”

          “How are you so sure about that?”

          “You think you’re being smart to not disconnect from your supervisor, but do you believe they were so naive to just let you go like that? You’ve got a lot to learn.”

          He heard him packing things and getting dressed, which took a toll on him.

          “What are you afraid of? Were you involved with the case in Switzerland? Is that why you’re running and hiding here?”

          “I’m not running, I’m being cautious.”

          “How were you involved?”

          The noise on the street stopped and the rain intensified, it covered other sounds and Jesse felt trapped. His company decided to step out of his hiding spot and dropped the hands from his neck, where he just finished adjusting his mask. In his hand, he held a small folder, rolled up, and then he tossed it at him. Jesse caught it and opened the file. There were several pictures in blue and grey hues. Typical surveillance footage. The man on the picture wasn’t him though: he had a darker hair. Although this man’s hair was grey, it didn’t use to be black.

          As Jesse looked back up, the other one made his way to the bathroom at the other end of the room, and made his first attempt of an escape since the door was blocked by agents. Jesse took a step back and glanced down the hallway.

          He activated his device. “Since when do you send a whole gang of babysitters after me?”

          There was no reply yet, it took her a while to counter him. “Since when you do disregard my orders?”

          “I’m talking to an old woman. Is that forbidden?” Jesse said as he walked back outside, shoving the file into his jacket. Downstairs, he looked directly into two suspicious eyes. The woman he mentioned stood there too, and he tried to find the bathroom window from his spot without appearing too decisive.

          “Nothing here.” He said, hoping this would do. The two soldiers interacted but he didn’t care what they had to say, instead his eyes tried to find any affirmation of an escape. Why did he help a convict escape? He questioned himself as he kept staring through the soldiers as the noticed a movement closeby. Someone stepped on the roof next to the building, then to another, until he reached the ground. Jesse watched him, and the look was returned. Was this worth a risk, but most importantly: who was this person?

          Some information was transmitted to the two before him but not directly with him. Jesse held his closed jacket by spot where the files rested. They turned around and moved through the tight alley. The older woman’s head shot around toward and she gave him a look. Jesse sighed desperately.

          “Hey, it wasn’t my fault.” He said.

          The soldier’s pace increased to a fast jog and they disappeared. Was it smart to follow?

          “He is acting like he is trying to hide something. I have no influence on the consequences this might have for him.” The woman still didn’t speak and just waited for him to do something. She did know something he didn’t and she tried to hint at through a couple of well placed looks he didn’t understand. He gave in and followed the two from a secure path where he wouldn’t be directly seen. On the other side of the building, he hurried onward without running and startling anyone or anything in his way. The small tunnel was about to end and there was a busy street ahead. Risking a traffic incident wasn’t the best idea, and so he figured out the best way to make his way back to hiding was deception. The soldiers neared and he halted in front of the street with its busy intersection.

          “Stand still!” They readied their weapons and he acted like they would have wanted it. He raised his arms, behind his head, and kept an eye on the different mobiles before him. He allowed them to come closer until one of them reached out to touch his arm, so he took it and pushed him into the arms of his partner. The impact was enough to push them both to the ground and he could mix into the traffic, venturing into another dangerous situation as if this was all worth it. Jesse arrived and he heard confused road users braking and uttering curses. On the ground, he found the two agents who helped each other on their feet. They exchanged looks with him and he thought it was to act as if he was going to pick up the chase.

          “God, I hate traffic!” He yelled as he crossed vehicles and tried to apologize to their owners. An old man smacked him with his shopping bag and Jesse rubbed the back of his head. After surviving the intersection, he continued running but stopped at a huge building. He had three choices here, which one should he take? Considering the second, he saw something unusual happening the third street. Jesse followed and soon caught up to a wounded suspect. The man quit running as he felt dizzy and reached out to find support in a nearby wall. People looked confused and their eyes traveled toward Jesse, who slowed his pace and forced the other one out of sight.

          In a nook, they continued the useless conversation or attempts thereof. “What are you trying to do?” Jesse inquired again.

          The other one inhaled and peered on the street. “The only way to avoid further incidents is to not cooperate in my case. If you had the wits to understand anything you have found or which I was willing to share, you would have found out by now.”

          “I get it: you’re someone everyone wants, that does not permit you to act like a criminal and it will just worsen your situation, you know that right?”

          “No, you don’t understand. You haven’t looked at anything, have you?”

          “If I was a hacker, I’d probably would have seen it by now.”

          Jesse felt judged and the busy street gave them time enough. There was not enough energy in him left to run away, Jesse found, and so he waited for him to catch his breath.

          “You know who is behind the incident in Switzerland? You have probably read the reports even though you were smart enough to escape possible consequences yourself. You also know who _died_ there. The thing is, and that you know as well, that nobody died. Why the cover-up? Some people needed to disappear and it should stay that way.”

          “Why?”

          “The only one who died was a possible source for those people who attempted the attack. To make it look like it was them, they found a good story and marketed it. If certain individuals wouldn’t have joined the dead, whether or not they truly died, there were too many evidences. Sometimes, people get tired. They disappear.”

          “You’re saying that the attack wasn’t executed by Blackwatch, did I get that right?”

          Jesse watched him hold his side and stand tall. He looked a lot more impressive now. His reply sounded sardonic. “Oh yes, it was. But not to hurt Overwatch in any way, more to weaken a third party involved. Anyway, Overwatch should not be brought back to life. It will cause a lot more problems than it will do any good.”

          He grunted and rubbed his side. He was not doing well.

          Jesse bit his tongue slightly, then he opened his mouth to speak. “You don’t have to give up anything, you know, but you could just try and find some rest. I don’t think that the people I work with would harm you in any way.”

          “God, you’re so damn good-natured.” He wheezed and looked up at the sky. The rain felt good on his hot forehead. Jesse noticed the desire to just lie down and sleep - he knew that feeling too well. When he was hit during a mission, and he lost his arm, all he wanted was to sleep. It was too dangerous, but back then he didn’t give a damn. All he wanted was to sleep. He remembered that this was one of the few times that he worked with Jack, and the tone in his voice had been worried and genuinely concerned. It was actually Jack who came out to find him, and as he did, he would make sure that he survived the assault. The fucking strike-commander himself came out to rescue a Blackwatch agent. That was a great day for any news reporter.

       Jesse looked at the company standing in the rain and he heard the voice in his ear asking him if he found him. Was this a trick question? Running was no option and he decided to push this man into the right direction. It couldn’t get any worse.

 

In the end, he told her _no_ and now he sat in another dark room with this man, half conscious, and he wondered why he still bothered. Perhaps it was his thing for heroes, no matter what kind. As a kid, he always wanted to be a hero, but his own folks didn’t have the ones he liked. So, he created one himself, someone he wanted to be when he was older, someone who couldn’t get hurt in any way, someone who was stronger than anyone. Then, he also wanted to have a hero to be there for him. There was nobody interested in that, though, and so he thought the best way to not get hit is joining a group of other young, lost people to survive together. Sleeping was fatal. That was one of the things he learned back then. Hence why he couldn’t sleep for years, and why he still battled with that basic concept.

         Jesse looked at the man before him, resting on a window sill while he himself was sitting on a chair. He didn’t want to sleep either, Jesse understood that. He examined the hurt part of his torso from afar until he got enough courage to remove the hand guarding the spot and opening the jacket. By touching the wound, he caused a stir and the other man jumped to sit upwards.

         “Oh, I’m sorry.”

         He waved Jesse off.

         “I really am sorry.” Jesse admitted. “I shouldn’t have come to this place you were hiding at and just do my job instead. Now you’re into more trouble than before. I have that effect on people.”

         A hand landed on his shoulder. It squeezed him and a few words followed. “Don’t blame yourself for everything.” The guard was down due to exhaustion, and Jesse thought about these words for a while. That day he was with Jack, when he was loaded onto a truck and he slipped in and out of consciousness, he always felt Jack right to side. He never left him alone with any of these soldiers. Was it because he knew how much his well-being meant to Gabriel, or did he do that because he felt responsible? _Don’t blame yourself, Jesse._ He said, then he moved down to sit with him while a medic took care of his arm. This was one of the moments that he realized why he was important to Gabriel, too. That level of caring was different, everything mattered to him.

         Jesse looked to the ground. “You could just, y’know, get away and leave it all like this since you don’t want to be involved at all, yet here you are: being involved. Why?”

         He looked back up, the misty light coming through the window gave him an unnatural pale appearance, which he wasn’t normally. His company seemed too tired to care, or too tired to answer. Whatever it was, he just shrugged. “There are still people out there I care about.”

         There was something he wanted to add, but he didn’t.

         “They probably aren’t worth it anyway.” Jesse felt defeat and delusion taking over and he hated those episodes. He was tired, but couldn’t sleep, and the constant exposure to someone else’s memories took a toll on him. He was crotchety, too, and wanted to faint.

         “Why would you think that?”

         “Because people usually do that. They make you feel responsible for them and then they disappear. They somehow still give you reason enough to make it through the day, but what is it worth in the end? Nothing.”

         In a sudden wave, he felt angry about Gabriel dying, as if he did that purpose. He was angrier at Jack though for apparently not having died at all. Jesse felt guilty about that for years, because on the sly, he cared about Morrison a lot. He never admitted it, but he studied Gabriel’s feelings for him and found himself stuck in the exact same puddle of shit. He hated having emotions and being easily set off track.

         “I’m sorry.” The other one said and he desired to get up and away from the window sill. Jesse’s automatic response was to help him up and out of a reflex, his hand grabbed Jesse’s. There was nothing odd about this simple gesture itself, but there was a certain charm to it which he did not back out of.

         “For what?” Jesse let go off the hand as the other one felt steady enough to lean against the window sill instead of sitting on it.

         “Nevermind.” He dismissed what he wanted to say and Jesse rose his brows before deciding it was best to leave. Jesse was sure he would make it through this without dying, and that he was better off without him anyway. As he turned away though, he heard him remove his mask and the same old inquisitive desire took over. Should he turn around and find another someone he never saw before? What was there to expect? It was probably no-one.

         “I should have told you that I was fine, but the more people who knew, the greater the risk.”

         Jesse’s eyes opened and the weariness disappeared for a little while. Why was he so eager to reveal who he was now and what did that sentence mean? Jesse didn’t want to turn around because he loved avoiding responsibilities. He did it anyway with a slightly opened mouth and cocky frown.

         “What the fuck.” He stumbled ahead and crossed the distance between them. His boots sounded heavy on the wooden floor, which moaned beneath his weight. Jesse stared at Jack’s face to make sure it wasn’t an imposter. Did he still truly know what he looked like? He remembered that slightly curved nose, the twisted lips, and the bright blue eyes which shone less now. They appeared greyer, as if joy was colored blue and it left him the day the he _died_. Jesse grunted. Today, he felt empty and motionless, there was nothing left of the feelings he had once, which he harbored for a long time. He just felt empty and disappointed that he couldn’t find the words he wanted to throw at his face for years when he believed him to be dead. When he was on his mind during cold nights in abandoned roads; then he wanted to return and just find him there, moping over a couple of files with his brow knit together but it was impossible. Now, he took off his gloves, as well, and he couldn’t stand Jesse’s silent treatment. This was worse than screaming.

         Jesse found himself staring at the person he once knew as Jack. Was he, in the end, still the same person? Did everyone change? Of course people do that over time, but he did not want him to have changed. Jack stared out of the back of the window, and his hands fumbled with another. His tight squeezes left red marks on their backs and his thumb bored into the thenar space. Why was he so nervous? Jack eventually noticed the look and he snuck a glance at Jesse. It was almost begging for telling him whatever bothered Jesse right in this moment. As if he asked for forgiveness. Instead of answering, Jesse lit a cigarette. It was his tenth by now and his lungs hurt. It was a bad habit he couldn’t get rid of, and he knew it, but he had an oral fixation.

         Now that he looked at Jack, he seemed so mortal and fragile. Perhaps this was because Jesse was older. He knew that this age wasn’t something far away, something that blessed you with natural authority. He must have been in his late forties or early fifties now. Everything lost its glamour and mystery to Jesse as he found out that Jack was just like him, made of flesh and bone, with feelings, which were hurt, and tired eyes nesting in his skull. Two scars reminded him on that memory he dreamed of. So it was a memory.  

 _Jack has become the same person Gabriel’s been back in those days_ , Jesse thought. The same fidgeting when they thought no-one was watching. Tapping feet, mangling hands, shifting back and forth in their sitting position, staring out of any window available because they were longing for distance. Silence made their lips curl.

         “Don’t you have other hobbies?” Jesse asked weak. He was still grumpy and sensitive to any kind of stress. This increased his stress level gradually. “For example: you could collect stamps since you’re retired, or whatever the fuck people like you do.” He inhaled and tried to fight an old, familiar feeling of overwhelming disappointment. After all these years, he mused, he never really got to know Jack more than what he wanted him to be. The dutiful soldier, the responsible strike commander everyone adored and yet no-one knew. No-one but Ana, and certainly no-one but Gabriel.

         Jack rose and attempted to soothe him somehow. He couldn’t find fitting words.

         “For how long did you follow me?” Jesse asked bitter and then a laugh mixed with other feelings. “Kiss my ass.”


	4. ... the wolf waited for the jackal as the lion finally slept

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After finding out who the masked vigilante truly is, Jesse decides to help him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor scenes with Hanzo in case you don't like that, important to the plot though. I checked for typos but it is very hot and I forgot how to summer.
> 
> Again, there are some mentions of blood and violence. 
> 
> Enjoy!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

> “Many solemn nights   
>  Blond moon, we stand and marvel...  
>  Sleeping our noons away”   
>  ― [Bashō Matsuo](https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/62257.Bash_Matsuo)

 

“Have you ever tried to climb a mountain with a broken limb? I did, and it wasn’t something I want to do again. You crawl up that damn hill and find yourself getting further away from the top than closing in. The pain is horrendous and you wonder: why did I do that? Why did I decide to crawl up that mountain if I could have just waited until it was healed? In the end, you’re going to be worse. Your leg will be ruined forever; you’ll look at the body part and hate yourself for it.

                I’ll never forget your damn way of making me laugh. When I think about it now, I cringe and want to get of whatever feeling I have left somewhere in here. I don’t laugh anymore, you know why? Because every time that I laugh, I revive some part of you and I want you dead already. Then I go back in time, think about you, and wish I would have never left home. Enduring anything there would have been easier than anything that happened here. I might have regretted that, too, but I’d rather regret being locked on a farm with cows than reliving this all over again. You had everything aligned to your favor, and maybe you had all the right to be pissed about one or two things, but that doesn’t give you the right to destroy everything others created for the safety of this world. Now, it’s fucked up and too late. We’re all just some people who sold themselves as heroes, everyone a criminal in the eyes of widowed people and orphans. You know who’s responsible for this?

                The many times I punched the walls… I hit them and didn’t do any damage but to me. My hand broken, I still have scars on my knuckles. That didn’t do anything except increasing the need to tear everything down. But hey, I saved myself, and maybe I will wake up and all this is just the nightmare of a silly boy who wanted some adventure. Some stupid kid who thought that there was someone worth loving. As it turned out, you weren’t and I sit here having regretful thoughts and the urge to bleed. I started bleeding ten years ago and it didn’t stop. It’s just like climbing mountain with a bloody and broken leg. Maybe I should cut it off and get rid of that damn dead weight. I want to stand on the top of the hill like a damn champion. And you can’t take that away from me.”

* * *

 

Bonk! A fist thrusting a wall. One punch after another and the wall didn’t show any damage. That was so frustrating, hence why he continued beating the metal until he noticed pain in the arm made of flesh and bone. Did that relieve him? No. Anger burned everywhere, it oozed through his skin, causing a sensation of melting limbs. Jesse’s swollen hand rested against the wall now and he looked at the swell beginning at his knuckles, turning darker by each passing minute. He did not miss being angry.

                Jesse closed his eyes and leant his forehead against the back of the swollen hand. The pumping blood and the pain soothed him _._ He tried to avoid another memory showing up in a moment he didn’t want to think about anything. He just stood in the shower and turned the water hotter until he could barely handle the heat.

                _“What is your home like?” That voice right there, asking him things he wasn’t prepared for. Jack had to think about the answer. What was his home like? He inhaled and stopped breathing. He continued wading through a sea of green leaves, wet from the waterfall behind them. “Dull.” He replied. Jack felt Gabriel’s eyes boring into his back. There was heat; he didn’t know whether that was the sun or the look._

_“It was a terrible state for a long time, I think. Terrible for several things that, when we look at it now, don’t grasp because it’s so ridiculous. Nowadays, it’s a place where people are just plain lackluster. For the better, I guess. I’d rather be bored than hurt.” A heartbeat increased by a wave of a natural fragrance lulling him into a smile. He looked back, Gabriel scoffed. A hand reached out to grab the back of his shirt as if he asked for support by climbing that mountain._

_“Did you ever jump off a cliff?” Gabriel asked dry._

_“Are you kidding me?”_

               Jesse turned the water cold and opened his eyes, he stared right through the shower and ignored his burning eyes. He eventually turned off the shower and counted the floor tiles until he was fed up with that task. What was he supposed to be doing now? He did his job – he found Jack Morrison.

 He swallowed dry and grabbed a shirt to pull it across his wet chest and he couldn’t care less about the nasty feeling of wet clothes. Pants followed and the rest, as well. He returned to the kitchen and hoped that he would be left alone. “Fuck!” Jesse yelled at the kitchen sink as he tried to turn on the water with his swollen hand. It hurt more than he thought and in that anger, he smashed a cup with his bionic arm. “Son of a fucking—“

                “Watch your language.” Someone said and he would have laughed if it was Jack, but it wasn’t. Neither was it Ana, for whom he might have changed his vocabulary temporarily because she possessed a special place in his heart. He might have even said sorry, but he found out that it was the stone-cold sober Japanese guy over there who read a book and judged him from across the brim of his glasses. _He wore glasses? What the fuck. He is a sniper._ Jesse wrinkled his nose. “Watch yours.”

                Hanzo didn’t have any facial expression as he placed a bookmark between the pages, closed the book and put it down. He also removed his glasses and folded them up; his hands neatly placed on the cover. “Or else? Are you going to shoot it? Your aim isn’t the best, so you might miss.”

                “Huh,” Jesse repeated the sentence mockingly. “You’re aim sucks.” Then he turned back to the sink and used the other hand to open the tap. “ _I have glasses, but your aim sucks._ ”

                “I’m farsighted.”

                “Yeah, you totally are.”

                A minute later, Hanzo stood next to him and Jesse jumped because he did not hear him. “Sweet baby Jesus!”

                “I’m fine with Hanzo.” He replied dry and took the hand to examine it. It was black and blue by now. “Did you see the doctor?”

                “Is that a rhetoric question?” Jesse calmed down and let him do whatever he wanted with his hand, which was trying to find a way to cool it and make the pain a little more bearable. _What a bad person._  Jesse twisted his lips. He knew he was here because of his brother, and Jesse remembered him vividly from back then. That kid, almost died, now put back together. Half man, half machine, and the person who put him into this situation stood right before him, bandaging his hand. It was ironic. Nowadays, he was here because desperation to gain redemption forced him to.

                “What did you do that your hand looks like this?” Hanzo asked him without looking up.

                “I punched a wall.”

                “Why did you do that?”

                “I come short on exercise.” Jesse moved his fingers and the pain there bore likeness to what he felt like at this moment. His lip curled downward and his forehead ruffled. “It’s surprising, this feeling when you think someone is dead but they aren’t? Or when they change entirely into something you can’t recall.”

                “Hm.” Hanzo held still and thought before he continued. As if he understood what Jesse meant and maybe he did. “People can surprise you, even the ones you thought to know. Something happened that threw them off the course of a noble life. Then they fall and don’t see the damage they have done because of their pride, which is a venomous thing.”

                He looked at him tending to his hand and that hurt him even more, because he wished that someone else would have decided to turn into a good person again. Or whatever. Jesse felt like a child, and he hated this sensation. It was a crippling feeling which haunted him for a long time. “I wish he was dead, then I wouldn’t have to deal with that. Whom I miss now, but I could’ve mourned him. Now I just want to kill him.”

                “Don’t say that – unless it makes you feel better, of course.”

                “What does it matter, he doesn’t care.”

                “Maybe he does. As I said before: pride is a very strong force.”

                Hanzo was done and Jesse looked at his hand. It was wrapped up and the wet cloth soothed the pain. “Thank you.” Jesse smiled honest, yet poignant. He got a smile as reply, a rare one that changed the typical solemn façade into a painting. Then it vanished as he sat back down in front of his book. “You’re welcome.”

                Jesse didn’t want to be alone, though company wasn’t exactly what he was looking for either. “May I sit?” He pointed to the empty chair on the other side of the table Hanzo sat at. He looked up swift, then back down at his literary amusement. “Sure, it’s a public space.”

                A lighter clicked. Jesse was about to smoke. “You may not do that, however.” Hanzo remarked.

                “Oh, come on.”

                “You can do that outside.”

                “It is cold outside.” Jesse put the cigarette away and stared ahead blankly.

                “Did you try reading a book?”

                “I did that, then I realized that I get too invested into these stories and gave up on it.”

                “So… you just sit in random places, punch holes in walls, and smoke as your pastime activity?”

                “Is there something wrong with that?”

                Hanzo gave him another look. _Such a judgmental man_ , Jesse thought. “What is that book about?” Jesse asked, and it seemed too much for the other one because all he wanted was solitude. Hanzo sighed.

“A dog whose owner died. The dog stays with the old, dead one until neighbors are aware of the smell and call the police. They take him way, bury him, and the dog stays at the grave for several weeks until the dog decided that there is a lot to see in the world, and so a journey begins.”

                Jesse nodded. “Wow. Does the dog make new friends?”

                “Another dog, few stray cats, a whale.”

                Out of the blue, Jesse laughed and leaned into the table. “A whale? How did the dog meet the whale?”

                “Well, a visit by the sea and the whale said to the dog: come and ride on my back, I’ll show you islands and introduce you to my friends. But then there were whalers and they had to hide. So, the whale drops the dog off on an island, where the dog meets some fascinating birds.”

                “What happened to the whale?” Jesse appeared intensely invested into the story after such a short lecture.

                “I don’t know yet, that is what I wanted to find out until I got distracted.”

                “Oh, I’m sorry.”

                Hanzo nodded and continued reading. Jesse disliked awkward silences and he placed his hands between his thighs, tapping his fingertips against each other. “Did you find out yet?”

                “If you’d let me just read.”

                Another few minutes passed and Jesse stretched his neck in closer. “Anything yet?”

                “Please stop that.”

                Jesse blew a raspberry and swallowed. Focused, he watched Hanzo and hoped that his facial muscles would reveal something like an emotion about that story, which would give him insight on the whale’s situation, but nothing happened. He then looked down at the lines and found the word _whale_ on it. “Hey!” He reached out and pointed at the page. “Don’t trick me!”

                Hanzo put his hand on his to hold it still. “No! I’d like you to refrain from that. I cannot focus that way.”

                “But… I saw that!” Jesse grumbled and removed his hand in a slow move. “I think that this isn’t fair.”

                “Nothing is fair.”

                “Pff. Real optimist, aren’t you.”

                “No.”

                “Huh, of course not.” Jesse rubbed his nose and decided it was best to sit next to Hanzo on the free chair. As he did, Hanzo closed the book. “Are you serious? How old are you?”

                “I’m thirty-seven. You? I’m almost thirty-eight, though.” Jesse snorted.

                Hanzo blinked his eyes and he found him unbelievable, but in a good way, which he disliked admitting. Jesse accepted his fate. “Alright, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to distract or annoy you.”

                “Hm.” Hanzo returned to his book and the page he was on. “Just stop interrupting me and I will tell you what happened.”

                Jesse’s lips curled into a charming smile. “Thanks.” He lit up a cigarette, but more so as an automatic move that became a passive ritual.

                “You’re unbelievable.” Hanzo remarked dry without changing his view.

                “Why, much obliged.”

                Hanzo just shook his head and read without adding anything, while he wrinkled his nose at the smoke. Jesse kept quiet, off and on staring at the page and reading with him. He did that faster than him, and whenever he was done, waited patiently until he turned the page.

 

 

 

 

 

A scooter honked. Cars passed him and he beheld the busy sight on the other side of the street. Restaurants and small coffee shops opened before noon to invite people, especially tourists, and offer them regional goods. Jack possessed a couple of contacts as Jesse found out, besides the elder coffee shop owner. Someone dropped a note to one of the places he visited, outside the base, and made sure he was going to receive it. He wanted to meet Jesse, but Jesse ignored it for two days. He wondered if Jack was persistent and still showed up at the meeting point.

                Jesse spied through the crowd and looked around, checking if anyone was there, ready to meeting him. He was not in the mood of listening to apologies and excuses, but he was curious what he had to say. He sat at a free table, reserved for him by someone called Claudine. It wasn’t their real name anyway and he didn’t expect Jack to show either. Someone else would show up, talk to him, or give him a note or anything like that. Chatter from the table next to him distracted Jesse as he overthought the files he received. It made no sense. Why would Blackwatch blow up a base to prevent Talon from doing the exact same thing? An infiltration game? Jesse apparently didn’t understand their logic enough to deduct to a solution. In the meantime, Jesse ordered a drink as someone behind him offered a lighter when he pushed a cigarette between his lips. He turned around and saw Jack sitting right behind. More casual than before, sunglasses hid his eyes. The sun turned his forehead red and freckles were littered on his face. He didn’t know he had freckles. Only a few, bright ones, on his cheeks.

                “Want a drink?” Jesse pouted, using the small flame to light his cigarette. “It’s Jack Daniel’s. Tastes lie crap which is perfect for you.”

                Out of nowhere, the amusement on his face vanished and he appeared sullen. He wagged his finger. “Did good! Everyone thought you’re dead. How did you do that?” He didn’t give Jack time to answer, who didn’t even want to and just allowed Jesse to rant and swear until he was done. “Then this weird dude shows up, with his fucking _I save the world_ mentality while he is actually just trying to make himself feel better. Should have known that was you.”

                Of course, he was angry and Jack respected that. Angry, because the people he learned to care for all disappeared. Somehow, he was still a kid but Jack disliked referring to him as _the kid_ nowadays, because he wasn’t a kid. He never liked it at all. Jesse’s never been immature when it came down to it. He was naïve sometimes, but never juvenile. Wrinkles showed up around his gold-brown eyes now, his sunburnt cheeks looked weathered. Watching someone grow up blinded you for the change within a person, at least this was the case for him and Fareeha. Now, seeing Jesse after so many years it was as though he met a different person. Then Jack wondered how she was doing and he distracted himself with coffee.

                Jesse rubbed his face with both hands. The metal of his bionic arm reflected the sunlight. “What do you want from me?”

                Jack replied with silence, his jaw tightened and the tension filled this silence until it was about to burst. Jack cared to not let that happen. “I told you that I am genuinely sorry for tricking you. Coming back now and reclaiming everything isn’t what I want.”

                “Why Mexico?”

                Jack licked his lips and took off his sunglasses. The blue eyes were dull, somewhere there hid the reminder of his mischievous smiles, buried in the wrinkles around their corners. Two large scars were monuments of a dispute residing in a landscape of past battles. He didn’t shave, and the stubble was as silver as his hair. Jesse found that he looked rather handsome, and he slapped himself mentally for that thought.

                “Good question. I thought I’d find something here, some explanation. But I didn’t. I was trying to find him since I didn’t believe he was dead.”

 _Him._ Jesse knew he meant Reyes. “Was he there that day?”

                A long pause resurrected the awful silence. “No.”

                “A lot of the questions people have could be solved by you showing up again, you know that right.”

                Jack shook his head. Due the entire time of their conversation, he did not look at Jesse once. Was it shame that prevented him from doing so? Guilt? “If I did that, people would ask way too much. I don’t want that. I can help you solve the problem, but I won’t show up myself.”

                “So, you like making people believe that you’re dead? What if I told them? Why do you trust me?”

                Finally, Jack looked back at him. He wiggled on his chair with a cigarette between index- and ring finger. “There is nothing for you to lose. If I contacted somebody else, they face prosecution for helping the criminal I am now… technically.”

                “I see.” Jesse snippet the cigarette away.

                “I don’t mean it like that. If anything would come out you’d be warned, and then return to your work. You might just end up leaving it again, knowing you well-enough to make a judgement. Why I trust you? I don’t. I don’t trust anyone these days.”

                “You’re trusting those people here.”

                “I do not. They trust me because I punched some people in the face, that doesn’t make me reliable, but it is good enough to stay on their side. Now, imagine I would do something else. Something truly criminal. Could I still trust them?”

                Jesse laughed; it was this dry, sardonic laugh. It faded and he wanted to speak. Instead, he lit another cigarette, stretched his legs out, and pulled on his shirt to fan his stomach. Jack noticed that he didn’t wear much of the same clothes he used to wear.

“Do you still think that you’re a cowboy?”  Jack asked.

                “Do you still think that you’re a hero?” It sounded harsher than he intended.

                “I never thought to be one.”

                “Nah, you’re too humble for that; I get it.” It amused Jesse. “Don’t get me wrong, though. That’s what you are, right? A humble lifesaver. One could hate you for it if they wanted to.”

                “Hm,” Jack wrinkled his nose. He sounded so thoughtful out of a sudden. “Did you ever hate me for that?”

                Jesse took the cigarette out of his mouth and looked at its butt. That was a question he didn’t want to answer. “No.” It was a slow and prolonged “no.” One that could be followed by a few words if the speaker wanted to. “Maybe Gabriel did, because you showed up like Mary Poppins with her big bag. You stuffed all the problems into the bag and they disappeared. Then you took all the people with you, in that bag, and you flew off. Gabriel stared at you… he glared and he said: what the fuck. I want a bag like that for my regretful decisions and maybe the fucking umbrella, too.”

                Jack judged him. “Instead of a cowboy, you should have become a fucking writer. What a wasted opportunity.”

                “That’s my life in a nutshell: just a chain of wasted opportunities. Now I sit here with an old, grumpy version of Strike Commander Morrison, whose basement looks worse than mine. Did anyone ever clean that or do you like it that way?”

                “Yes.” Jack nodded deadpan. “I like my corpses as I like my licorice: hard and salty.”

                “Ugh,” Jesse wrinkled his nose. After an interval of possible things to say, Jesse settled for some honesty. “I wish I could kill you, because that is how I feel right now.” Then he remembered the memories, and that Jack knew he could trace them down. “The guy who did that,” Jesse pointed to his facial scars, “who was that?”

                The advent of a smile tickled Jack’s lips and he scoffed. “Someone I used to know. Not trustworthy.” He leant forward in his seat. Dog tags showed, it wasn’t his. “It’s a little bit weird talking with someone who can see parts of what I have seen. How did they convince you to do that? I know the procedure isn’t harmless.”

                “I had questions. This was, as I believed, the best way to answer them. They pay me very well, too, you know. Also, I’m one of the few people left with some skill. Everyone else is dead. Or you know…. Act as if they are dead!” Jesse snorted.

                “Does it hurt?”

                “Sometimes.” Jesse said. “So, what is your plan?”

                Jack replied quick. He wanted to hear that question. “I’ll give you more information, you forward it. They’ll find the people responsible for everything that is going on lately, punish them, and everyone is happy. I continue what I do, you do whatever you want to do. Happy ever after.”

                “And you just happen to have all that information?”

                “Not entirely. Give me some time.” Jack put his sunglasses back on and rose off the chair to leave their meeting. Jesse stood, as well, and he looked at the once familiar profile. It was a shame that Jack became so stoic and serious, found Jesse as he watched him. Or has he always been that way? He wished he knew him better than what he remembered. That kind of plan was better than ending up surrounded by Talon, on a train, while the train on fire and everyone was screaming. Was it considered a form of love doing anything to make someone else happy? Or was it a form of obsession? Nah. There was something about Jack that captivated him. You started to trust him after a while, and he did not take advantage of that trust. The grey hair didn’t help, because it reminded Jesse on how ephemeral everything was.

                “I understand that you’re angry with me, Jesse. Maybe one day, you aren’t anymore and we can be friends, because God knows I could use them.” He sounded so sentimental, it hurt. Hearing his name said in such a manner made it all worse and he wanted to turn around and leave.

                “I’m trying.” Jesse uttered through clenched teeth.

                Jack’s hand patted his shoulder and he pulled it back as he was ready to leave. “Thank you.”

 

 

Upon his departure, Jesse remembered the small paperback in his pocket, that book he found and which he already forgot. He pulled it out and opened it, in the middle of a street filled with pedestrians. Noticing that, he looked up and stepped right, into a nook, and tried to find some intel on what kind of book it was. There was a note on the first page which he couldn’t see since time distorted the words. He closed it and turned around. This was when he ran into someone. Crossed arms, askew mouth, dark eyes locking him tight in a dispraising look. It was that archer. Why did he follow him?

                Jesse rose his brows. “Yes?” He looked like a fool doing that.

                “An interesting choice of a conversational partner you have there, my friend. He reminded me on someone.”

                “You really are far-sighted if you saw that from over here.”

                “Hm,” Hanzo didn’t move and now, Jesse was trapped.

                “Why are you following me?”

                “Do you remember what I used to do for a living?”

                Jesse narrowed his eyes. “You shot people with your bow? Enlighten me!”

                “They thought that my skills would be of good use to help them erase the problems they face. Today, I was asked to do so. I didn’t think it would be that interesting.” Hanzo investigated Jesse’s face for any reaction, but he showed none. “Here I thought he was dead. Nothing but a legend anymore.”

                “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Jesse dismissed his claim and went on, but Hanzo’s hand was quick to put him in place. “I am not stupid.”

                Jesse inhaled. “Is that why you were talking to me yesterday? Listen, I have no idea what they told you, but it is important that they don’t know that he is still alive.”

                “And why is that?”

                “He trusts me.”

                “The more important question is: can you trust him?” Hanzo’s hand dropped and dangled almost lifelessly on his side.

                “I guess that I will have to find out.” He looked at Hanzo. Jesse wasn’t much taller than him, they were of almost equal height. Their eyes studied another and Hanzo quickly nodded his chin. “I’m not here to take sides or decide what is bad or wrong. The next timeI will be assigned to keep an eye on you, though, I will make a different choice.”

                “Go ahead, I won’t stop you.” Jesse bluffed. He always did whenever he faced problems, hoping that people would fall for his charms and most of the time, they did. The archer though was unimpressed. “I hope that you know what you are doing.”

 

 

                A few hours later. Night time, he wasn’t tired. There was a bathtub in his bedroom. Why would a facility like this one offer such luxuries? It was an old building, so most likely someone with privileges decided to put tubs in here. Not so bad, as he thought. The water wore him out and he held the book in his hand. It was a Victorian novel, written in 1876, about two people who cared for each other. Nowadays, this wasn’t something special but back then this would have been a huge uproar. He read the first twenty-five pages. It was a boring story, and loves stories never truly interested him unless they were a subplot in a bigger story. Then he wondered why that book mattered so much, because otherwise he wouldn’t have found it. He tossed it away and sunk into tub. Underwater, everything was simpler. He wondered what it felt like, that moment before someone passed away. What would you think about? Someone you loved? A great book you read once, a city you have admired? If Gabriel was dead, what was the last thing he thought about? Jesse opened his eyes in the water and ignored the need to breathe.

                What was his last thought?

                He sat up and gasped for air his lungs demanded. To think about Gabriel having passed away made him panic; the sole idea of him dying while he was somewhere else has been his nightmare throughout his days In Blackwatch. Every time he left, he started counting the minutes and hours, and when he returned he felt light and worry disappeared. Now, he was gone, and his nightmare has become a reality. Nothing did work. Not his wishes, not his attempts to come with him. Jesse wished he would have been there back then.

He thought about that whale in the story which he read yesterday. The whale to took a new friend on a ride, and then he had to let him go because thing became too dangerous. Dropping the friend on a vast island, the whale disappeared and never showed up again until one day, he miraculously reappeared. Meanwhile, the dog found many other things to care about. Jesse didn’t know if he was the whale or the dog. Maybe he was the island.

 

* * *

 

_Finley the dog sniffed the sand, but little did the dog know that there wasn’t any familiar scent stuck in the grains. Step by step closing in to the woods that marked the border of beach and forest, Finley looked up and wondered what would lie there behind the looming green? A yellow bird, seated upon a rock, chirped. Finley didn’t understand what that meant and walked up to the bird, then sat down and waited. The bird looked back at the dog. There was silence and unanswered questions ascending into the air, filling the sky with mystery._

_“Why don’t you ask me what bothers you?” The bird said._

_“I thought to not speak because that would be disrespectful.”_

_“What do you do here?”_

_“I walked away from home, because it made me unhappy. Now I see why it made me unhappy: I lost someone I loved. A befriended someone, but they had to let me go, and now I don’t know where to go.”_

_“No-one ever comes here who hasn’t got wings. Follow me, but don’t try to catch the ones who fly.”_

_Finley yapped and together, they entered the forest, which wasn’t so scary after all. “Maybe,” so thought Finley. “I stay here.”_


	5. The lion follows the jackal, and the wolf is watching

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few days later, Jesse keeps co-operating, and is supposed to find an opposing agent during an event. Things escalate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some angst and violence. A lot of feels, at least I hope so. There is a mention of depression and the last paragraph is a monologue covering the same issue.

 

 

 

 

>  
> 
>  
> 
> I don't need another friend  
>  When most of them  
>  I can barely keep up with them  
>  Perfectly able to hold my own hand  
>  But I still can't kiss my own neck
> 
> I wanted to give you everything  
>  But I still stand in awe of superficial things
> 
>  
> 
> \-- Jennifer Lynn Wasner

 

_“We went to this old, dusty bookstore. I haven’t seen one like that in a couple of years. Huge shelves with all kinds of books, by any author, and not even in alphabetical order, or sorted by genre. They were just there to be found by someone who had the patience to go through the entire assortment. When I was a kid, I loved these stores, but back then they were just mausoleums of the world’s self-loathing and people who wrote about it. You went in there and bought ten random books. Novels. We went back to the apartment we got to get some privacy, you shaved your hair off, then you read all these ten damn books. There was one you liked the most. You forgot it when we had to leave and didn’t even notice you did until we were back. It wasn’t that you couldn’t get a new copy, but what was written on the first page by someone to whom it belonged a long, long time ago. It said: ‘Your departure left a cold spot here and there but I do nothing about them. I sit down and look at them as if that could summon you. This book is for you, so that you won’t forget my name or at least keep a fracture of the memories we’ve made, because if you forget about me, I will forget about you, too, and I will forget who I was when I was with you, and nothing of that ever existed.’”_

Jack remembered these words and he remembered their time in Mexico. They got stationed there after a few days off and decided to head there before everyone else arrived. They rented an apartment on the third floor of a building out of the late 19th century. A little balcony oversaw a tiny street, chatter from neighbors traveled through the air of hot afternoons. A hot hand run across his shaven head, the short hairs nuzzling the palm, and then it vanished. Gabriel kept reading the same three books since they first met: a young adult fairy tale, a science fiction novel with a volume of 1000 pages, and a literary classic written by one of the Brontë sisters.

                _“I always loved you very much.”_ Jack winced. He hated memories. His fingers drummed on the window sill. It was a new, small apartment, abandoned a while ago. A friend offered it to him and he settled down for the time being. He made a face. _Hell, I loved you, too._ There was movement behind him. A young woman in her late twenties looked at him with a sweet kind of determination.

                “How are you holding up?” She asked.

                “I’m good.”

                “I don’t mean that nefarious wound.”

                Jack’s hand dropped off the sill and he moved toward his desk, grabbing his mask and checking his hand gun. “Why do you ask?”

                “Is all that stress worth it?”

                “Yes.” He replied dry. “I have to go.” He walked over to her and looked down. She was smaller than him, a Haitian woman who settled in Mexico to open a deli and profit from tourism. They became friends when he started a fight with one of those petty criminals who pressed money off her. Now, she found she had to make up for it and offered him a place to stay. More so because she wanted to rest. Claudine didn’t know everything, but she knew that he was looking for someone.

                “Take care of yourself. You’re pretty hardcore, but not immortal.”

                He nodded with one of his reassuring smiles. “I will do my best.” She replied with an evenly gentle smile. Claudine liked him very much; he was like an old sailor not tired of the rough sea. A captain who knew plenty of tales to tell during dinner. Someone you would trust and who couldn’t break that trust at any cost. Claudine barely trusted anyone of his kind, so she prayed that he wouldn’t disappoint her.

                She patted his shoulder as he passed her.

                _Friendships,_ he thought, _I shouldn’t start with that though, no matter how uplifting that is._ He felt responsible because he did not want her to get hurt, she was just an innocent person who wanted to make people happy with her food. Now, he was a threat to that life. He walked outside and inhaled the crisp air of the night. There, leaning at a pillar smoking a cigarette, Jesse looked at him and that look told many things. Jesse and Gabriel had too much in common. Sometimes he thought that they were the same person, and that the alternate universe thought it would be funny to send that younger Reyes into this world in the shape of an orphaned clown who thought he was a cowboy. Jack frowned. Why did he feel so hateful toward him out of a sudden? He looked down, then up at him and walked over. A silent, careful move. His hand rested on his holster and he gathered his thoughts before he opened his mouth. An exchanged look made Jesse inhale sharp and clear his throat. The opia lasted longer than either of them wanted. Jack stood straight and Jesse watched him in his laid-back half slouch, resting against the pillar with his crooked mouth.

                “I forwarded the files after reading them. Mentioned an anonymous source, but there is a possibility that their investigation becomes somewhat tighter now.” His tongue played with the butt of his cigarette. “Happy now?”

                “Thank you.”

                “I must say that I have a nanny nowadays, so it would be smart if we found some other way of communication.”

                Jack looked about. He smirked. “Don’t worry about that too much.”

                He pushed himself off the pillar and studied Jack’s face without the mask. The moon turned it even brighter than usual. He almost looked dead. “Huh, is he your inside source? Don’t make me laugh.”

                Jack blinked. “Why would that be so funny?”

                Jesse sighed. “I’m just saying that you want to be more careful if you need to stay out of sight, you know.”

                “I’ve been good at that for five years by now. Who supposed the guy with the mask is me? You didn’t.”

                Jesse wanted to hit him. It still hurt so much he had no idea where to put all that experience from the past weeks. At the same time, he worried about him. Talon was relentless, they were here, too. They were everywhere to be honest and if anybody found a weakness, they would use it. Jack’s weakness was believing in Gabriel’s survival, or whatever else was a vague possibility. Based on the files, Jack seemed to believe that he was still out there. Or rather what remained of him. Jesse didn’t want to ruin this drive with realism, although he, too, wanted to believe that. It was funny how their thoughts about Reyes were near the same, from a different perspective. Although Jesse wanted him to be dead, just so he could mourn him appropriately.

                “There is some passive aggression right there, mister strike-commander.” Jesse cocked a brow with curled lips. He looked so self-righteous with his messy, brown hair. Jack narrowed his eyes. The tone in his voice sounded as tempting as ever.

Jesse didn’t know what he wanted anymore these days. Out here he just punched criminals and tried to save children. In there, he felt useless and more like a burden than ever. He could barely sleep and thought about an old man with a grudge for too long who wasn’t even that old. Was that what he wanted? Fighting the unknown evil to make this world better again, to rebuild it and cast a smile on people’s face after its been lost for too long? Maybe he should go again and disappoint everyone, because there was no real reason for him to join anyway. It was because he couldn’t deny Jack anything. Jesse avoided the face.

“I have no idea what I’m doing here.” He admitted. His tone changed so abruptly, it worried Jack. Jack remembered him; he was half and half out. Always struggling to find out what his purpose was. “The place I should be is down in that high security cellar, because I’m a fucking criminal, too. Yet I’m not because of some wicked privilege. Well… I’m here now, staring at ceilings without a real plan for the next five years. Hell, will I even make it through the next five years? Will you make it through the next five years? Anyone? I don’t know. Huh.”

“You aren’t useless.” Jack replied. “When I was you-“

                “Don’t sound old now. You’re not old.”

                Jack chortled. “There can be a big difference in five years alone. Now.” He folded his hands in front of his crotch and leaned against the wall behind him. “When I was your age, I was in a totally different position of course, but that because I was obedient to any laws they came up with. I do not know what it must be like to be in your position now, but I think I can relate enough to say that sometimes, things look like shit while they aren’t. All you have to do is stop doubting yourself.”

                “You sound like some fucking guy in a period novel who tries appealing to the crowd with a lot of pathos before they all die.” Jesse was unimpressed.

“I know it must sound weird coming from me, though.”

                “Yeah.” Jesse moaned. “The opposite of dying like men is surviving like women, and lucky for me am I not only a man, but also a fucking tool. I just want to punch something, or someone, but that doesn’t solve anything. I could scream just to release some anger, doesn’t do anything either. I could try that tea Ana is drinking, which, according to her, soothes your nerves. Then I remember I don’t have them anymore.“ He could continue ranting like that, but looked at Jack and he stopped.

                Jack stood still, listening, his curved nose wrinkly in thought; did he know that he was handsome? He probably did. All people like that knew it, hell, Jesse knew it himself. Though that was more of a joke. Although he was confident about that on good days. On bad days, he hated everything including himself. Then he looked at that man before him and somehow, he felt better. It was that attitude of _You can’t kill me, people tried. It didn’t work. Now look at me being your worst nightmare._ There was some odd kind of hope buried in these blue eyes, some pride, and some poignant humbleness that made him weak. Jack pushed himself off the wall and walked on; Jesse understood that he’d rather escape this tension and leave him behind in this hole. As he passed him, his hand maneuvered to his shoulder and it rested there for the fracture of a second. Jesse locked it into his eyes and then trailed along the arm until they found the scarred face. Again.

                “It looks like you are going to make fun of me again” Jesse thought aloud.

                “No. I won’t.” His smile was weary and he let go.

                “Okay.” Jesse shrugged; then he laughed silly. It was such a serene feeling. Jack was flabbergasted. He didn’t understand when people were that way.

                “How is Ana doing?” Jack asked. He knew she was back.

                “As far as I know, good; she is in Dubai lately.” Jesse wanted to find any emotions on Jack’s face, knowing that they were close friends. Ana was the closest friend Jack had besides Gabriel, who was more than that anyway.

                Jack nodded stone-cold sober. “Good.” His head tilted. “I have some business to take care of. Stay sharp.” Jesse watched him leave. He walked as though he carried the weight of the world on shoulders and a little more. Jesse himself needed a couple of drinks or he could ask to lie under a tap and drink until his stomach turned inside out. He left the scene, walked on, and hoped to be alone for a while.

                He was supposed to find Talon agents, as if that train experience wasn’t enough, for which was blamed, he now had to show that there was nothing going on. People tended to distrust him, no matter how hard he tried to convince them otherwise. He mixed with the crowd and admired the variously colored streetlights in the busier areas. There was a museum about that opened for a night tour. People stood in line and he checked the advertisement. He remembered how Ana said to take him and Fareehe to a museum once in Hongkong. While he liked staring at artifacts, he wasn’t in the mood back then. Which changed through the night. The museum was entertaining and after that, they stuffed their bellies with good food. He missed them both.

                Jesse reviewed his information on the wanted target and where they should be right now. Somewhere here, so he was told. About to meet a contact, forward information, get the job done as everyone else. He didn’t know why Talon was so eager to create chaos when there were bigger issues abound. Jesse smacked his lips as he forgot how relentless people were in hating each other varying opinions.

                He found the subject and followed them until he had evidence enough to take them in. he couldn’t just do that, there were rules. The person’s speed increased and so did his, they entered the busy museum’s crowd and he almost lost track.

                “Hey, I found him.” He talked through this com. “ _Don’t lose him.”_

                “Huh, don’t lose him. I’ll try. He isn’t that tall, you know.”

                “Cut the jokes, McCree, I haven’t slept in eighteen hours.”

                “Welcome to the club.” He replied, and white noise took over. It was a high-pitched noise that hurt his ear. He made a face and rubbed the side of his head. Liliana’s voice was distorted.

                Luckily enough, he was used to do things on his own. He followed the agent and found a side-entrance to the museum. He had disappeared. Jesse wondered if he could just enter that building or if there was something more required. He tried anyway and to his surprise, nobody guarded it. A little later he found the security on the ground and he bent over to check his pulse. The guard was alive, but unconscious, and the com still didn’t work properly. The now quieter noise distracted him though since that the hallways were dead silent. He continued and carefully checked open doors. Nobody was there until he reached a big hall, ready to meet visitors. It would open in fifteen minutes, and out of a sudden Jesse felt unsure whether that would happen.

                He stole a glance at the showpieces and noticed cameras. Naturally, they were here. How did the agent get away with this? A thud could offer an explanation, coming from a room in the back which he pursued to enter. In there, screen flickered, two people lay on the ground. Somebody hauled to hit him, but he noticed the sound of footsteps and quickly countered. It was the man he followed.

                “I never thought to meet Jesse McCree himself!” He expelled and Jesse pushed him out of the room into the hall.

                “Nice to meet you, want an autograph?” He punched his face. The man landed against the glass cubicle protecting an artifact from the early 16th century. Jesse jumped. “Shit.”

                Ana taught him to handle old things with care.

                The man jumped up and attacked him with a nice weapon, which looked like a staff, but wasn’t. He wondered if it was sharp. No time to find out, though, as he tried to defend himself. His opponent was swift and agile, which he was too, but not like that. He wasn’t allowed to just shoot, there were precautions. He pulled his gun anyway, but the agent kicked his chest and send him a few feet away. That gave him enough time to run, but Jesse was quick on his feet and rushed after him through a crowd who just gathered what happened. They made room for him and confused security guards tried to find out what was going on. To no avail, as both men went off into the many streets of the city.

                Jesse stopped and listened to the night since the other one was out of sight, but surely not far.

                “I hate hide and seek!” He yelled. “I’m not a toddler, either.”

                Something poked the back of his head through his hair. “Nice try.” A voice spoke. Jesse closed his eyes. “You can shoot me right here, but that won’t really solve anything.”

                “Put your gun on the ground.”

                “Fine.” Jesse said and removed his firearm from the holster, as he was told to be doing in a situation like this. He wouldn’t have done that if he was on his own. He put it down and tried to figure out how far away the agent stood. Unknown to him, a second agent was nearby and a red dot showed on the back of his head, replacing the other gun.

                “I heard much about you, Jesse McCree.” The agent taunted him and Jesse knew he would start a tirade of bluffs. “The interesting thing is how you have come to work together with this vigilante who came to recent fame. You. I wonder… why did he pick you?”

                “I’m handsome? He’s got good taste.”

                The agent laughed bitter which turned into gurgling. Jesse’s eyes widened and he grabbed his gun, turned around, and aimed at him. He would have pulled the trigger right away if the suspect didn’t fall to his knees unconscious, and that same old masked face appeared. Jack watched him fall, then looked at Jesse. “Do I really need to get used to that? You need to focus.”

                He sounded annoyed. Jesse’s arm lowered. He was right though: Jesse wasn’t focused at all lately.

                “I know.” Jesse holstered his gun. “I will try, thank you.”

                “You owe me!” Jack was half joking, but he was sincere.

                “Sure, I’ll pay you some coffee.” Jesse bend down and checked the suspect’s pockets for something that indicated his identity, though he wouldn’t have anything on him. He didn’t, except for a pack of chewing gum.

                “Good,” Jack grunted. “I won’t forget—“ He grunted again, but it sounded different. It wasn’t a growl that spoke of irritation, or anything of that kind. It was a noise one expelled when something unexpected happened. Jesse shot up and looked at him. Nothing seemed wrong. Worried, Jesse touched his shoulder and moved him to the side. A scream resounded somewhere. Jesse was confused.

                “What the fuck?”

                Jack fumbled with his mask but his hands felt weak and numb. It all took too long and Jesse finally realized to help him, which was when he didn’t notice that the formerly unconscious agent woke up and tried to find out what happened. He rubbed his neck and searched for his weapon, found it and moved up soundlessly.

                Jesse looked right as something behind him whizzed. The only thing he saw was the suspect with a raised gun, the trigger almost pulled, and an arrow in his forehead. He fell to the ground. This time, he was dead. Jesse held Jack up who seemed to face the same fate if nothing happened quick.

                Hanzo looked at the dead body, then his eyes met Jesse’s, which were both full of shock and confusion.

                Time stood still. It started raining.

 

 

 

The museum closed. Everyone was silent. In her kitchen, Claudine chewed on dry bread staring at the news. Few people gathered in another coffee shop; arms up, fists hiding their mouths. A dog whimpered and the owner petted the animal slowly. The rain poured against the windows, Liliana counted the droplets on the glass. Nobody dared to talk and she turned off coms. A man behind her froze with the mission report in his hands. The city lights shone through the water drops and colored the glass in red and blue.

                In a busy, neon-light flooded hallway, a man stood alone with hanging shoulders and a wrinkled, lifeless face. His eyes were dull and stared into space. Medics rushed from one spot to another, one of them couldn’t grasp the news and another one shook her head. Jesse ignored the fact that he stood in everyone’s way. Why did he fail so much? How did he allow himself so much slack? People bumped into him, ran pass him, looked and went on. He turned around and walked to the opposite wing of the high security building because he didn’t want to stay in this part. Doctors were too busy, he vanished without anyone noticing—almost.

                He headed straight to the showers and took off his leather jacket. His white shirt showed a trace of blood and he looked down at it. His hand trailed it and he noticed it was almost dry. Jesse pulled off his gloves and looked at the shower’s wall before him, reached out and turned on the cold water. Every time he thought there was some security in his life, or something he was sure of succeeding in, failure came to remind him that nothing was ever safe. No one was ever safe. He stepped closer toward the water and let it wash off his face. The water ran down his skin and mixed with the blood on the fabric, dying the floor tiles light red. He sighed and bit the inside of his cheek since it distracted him from the unwanted, overwhelming feeling that kept pursuing him these days. _Another dead to blame himself with?_ He didn’t want to know how Jack did, but in all honesty, he doubted that anyone wanted to assume his condition right now. The shot went to the side of his neck. The shooter missed but it was still dangerously accurate. He wasn’t worth one life. Jesse wished that he would have been hit, it would have made things easier. With that thought, he sat down in the shower and leant with his back against the cold wall, his knees almost at his chest and arms on the ground until he wanted to hide his face from the downpour. He wanted to scream but swallowed the urge.

                Hanzo trailed him and found the leather jacket on the ground, then he closed the door and locked it behind him, because he was sure that the other one wanted privacy. Was it right to invade this need and be unwanted company? He picked up the jacket and glanced over to Jesse, in the shower, his face hidden from him. Hanzo knew what that felt like, this certain emotion to be responsible for someone else’s pain. Whether that was figurative or literal. He looked up and placed the jacket on the edge of a sink as he noticed sounds that he wished to not hear, a release of emotions that he could never handle because he was told it to be inadequate behavior.

                At the same time, he wanted to show support because he hated it when people felt this way. Hence why he walked over to Jesse and sat next to him on the ground, his hand moved to rest on one of the knees. Jesse’s heaving chest decreased in speed and became a little bit calmer, but it didn’t solve it. He just wanted to wash away everything and send it down the drain.

“In all these years, which I have spent alone,” Hanzo started to talk. It was loud enough to be heard by his neighbor. “I always wondered what it was that bothered me. That obedience toward my father? I could have done different, and dishonored my family. I could have joined my brother and feel less likely prone to painful feelings.”

                Jesse’s eyes opened slightly and the tiles gripped his attention and held onto them, his throat was tight as though he would be choking. He didn’t speak and just let Hanzo continue.

                “Nevertheless, I did not think and therefore I was not.” Hanzo found that remark witty and smirked. “Nowadays, I wish I would have never agreed to anything. I might have died and never felt this anger. When I am alone and I do nothing, but stare into space, I see so many dead bodies piled up. People I have killed for my family, people that I thought needed to be taken away, as if it was my choice to make. This is how much I thought of myself, a godlike creature. Some sort of monster which devours everything else.

                Later on, I left all this and did everything to make my father mad. I had a relationship with a man, too. Older than me, just a couple of years. I thought that he was wiser than me, but he was not. He was like me: hurt by someone they held dear. That common feeling made us bond. You know who it was? Someone my father hated but who was very close to him once. I didn’t do this out of love, but out of spite. All this made me realize that there is a monster inside my head. A sort of trauma perhaps? I stand in this shower every damn night and think about that. I can’t rid myself of anything.”

                Jesse just pouted and crossed his arms. By now he was shivering due to the cold water, but he kept ignoring it. Hanzo made a noise and reached out to turn the water somewhat warmer.

                “It’s called depression.” Hanzo added. “You might make regrettable decisions while you’re in that state. Don’t do it.”

                Jesse scoffed. “Yeah.”

                “Would you like to join me for a tea?”

                “I do not like tea.” Jesse whispered and closed his eyes.

Hanzo turned off the shower. “I dare that you will after this one.” Then he rose and offered Jesse one of his hands. Jesse’s heavy, burning lids opened and he considered that taking that hand for a long time before he did. Hanzo pulled him up and gave him his jacket.

“He will be fine.”

 

* * *

_Do you know what that feels like?_

_It’s like constant suffocation, a never-ending panic attack, a will to feed all these simple desires. You’re here and yet you’re not. You’re a plant standing in half-shadow upon a dusty window sill, few leaves withered, and you wish that you could move closer to the sun but that won’t help anymore. Your roots are rotten enough to poison you. You know you will be gone sooner or later, but that day won’t ever come._

_You’re standing there amidst a crowd. There is noise and light, but everything is blurred, everything is too loud to capture, lights are blinding you. All you desire is to dim this light and stop the noise. What would you do to succeed? Your mind is a glitching server; you can’t always control it. You fear and you are feared. There is nothing to be angry about and yet you’re furious. You want to scream but this feels like a nightmare in which you’re paralyzed and you can’t do whatever saves you from the ghastly monster under your bed. What if you’re that monster, your own worst enemy? Fighting it won’t work, ignoring it won’t work. So, you stand there and just wait for your survival mode to kick in, making you do whatever it takes._

_It’s like sitting at home and staring at a television that is airing an interference. You’re staring at the picture and get sucked into this weird trance. What else is out there anyway? Why bother changing the channel when it’s everywhere. You can’t run away from death because it’s faster and stronger than you._ _Your arms turn numb and so do your legs. Pain is not pain, it’s a constant malfunction in your head like white noise. Past events turn into ripped films, and your anger devours everything you were once. What would you do? Stare at the television for a little longer?_

 

 


	6. They sat at the pond and silence ruled the night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack recovers and is forced to work with Jesse and Hanzo for an organisation he never wanted to return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just continued with a mix of sad and fun, I hope that you like it too and don't mind some of my headcanons flowing through this work.  
> (Such as Jack being reluctant about his former position, him being the one finding Jesse during a null sector attack, et cetera.)
> 
> For the readers who are sensitive to some content:  
> There are mentions of blood, some non-graphic violence, and depression. (If you want me to add more of those, let me know! I sure want to be more specific for you. :)
> 
> Thanks for reading!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

> It's been so long between the words we spoke  
>  Will you be there up on the shore, I hope  
>  You wonder why it is that I came home  
>  I figured out where I belong
> 
> But it's too late to come on home  
>  Are all those bridges now old stone  
>  But it's too late to come on home  
>  Can the city forgive, I hear its sad song
> 
> — ([x](https://play.google.com/music/preview/Tq3vyzfupqcvht5jliacbutqlny?lyrics=1&utm_source=google&utm_medium=search&utm_campaign=lyrics&pcampaignid=kp-lyrics&u=0#))
> 
>  

Few times in his life he was moribund and looked death in the eyes, and then he defied death and remained detached from the world for several days. It affected his mind; he felt numb, careless, and confused. That night did the same to him. The worst thing was the lack of pain, indicating impact, or anything else giving him insight on what happened. Only when he started feeling a warm wetness on his neck, dizziness, and the need to breathe, it occurred to him that something went wrong. As they took off his mask, blood covered half of his face and a hand stayed on his neck until someone told him to remove it. Then everything turned black and at some point, Jack did not think he would be waking up again. The taste of blood lingered on his tongue. The question of how a bullet succeeded through the gear on his neck didn’t occupy him yet.

                His left hand subtly fumbled on his neck; it didn’t hurt. Nothing hurt these days. By moving his hand, he saw the blood transfusion and wondered how long he’s been here. Jack wanted to get up, but someone obstructed him. He glanced down and found Jesse’s brown tuft. He sat on a chair, with his arms and head laying on the edge of the bed. Both hands held to Jack’s right one. Jack leaned back into the pillow with a grouchy moan. _At least he got some sleep,_ came to his mind prior to anything else. He squeezed Jesse’s hand weak and looked around—he hated hospitals. Everything was so white, bright, and boring. A still life hung on the wall which didn’t help making the room look better. White, with a purple vase and red flowers. He wrinkled his nose. The color combination hurt his eyes. Or was it the light? He despised anything loud recently: noises, harsh voice, and intense lights.

                Jack’s always had problems with his eyes, but since the incident, he could barely stand it and grimaced at the bright sunlight flooding the room through the opened curtain.

                Someone coughed; Jesse woke as summoned, wearing a shirt that surely wasn’t his. It wasn’t his style: too smooth. His hair held together in a loose knot and it looked sundried without having seen a brush. Jack watched him until Jesse would notice his look, his eyes were red and that was when Jack made himself noticeable. He tapped Jesse’s hand with his index finger because talking would have caused discomfort. At least he thought so, and his throat was dry and hot.

                Jesse was too tired to show more than a relieved, forced smile. Though he hasn’t been that glad for a while now. He wanted to show off how elated he felt, but then it all collapsed and he twisted his mouth. Whenever he thought to be done with the damn wailing, his eyes did the exact opposite.

                “You shouldn’t have done that.” Jesse said as he sat up. His hand loosely lay on top of Jack’s now. His voice sounded like an old, rusty saw. He swallowed to wet his throat. It didn’t make it better.

                “What?” Jack forced himself to speak. It didn’t hurt as much as presumed. He forced his eyes open and ignored the painful, stinging sensation on them.

                “Saving my ass again.”

                “That’s my job.” Jack patted his hand and closed his eyes for a short moment. “I told Gabriel I would keep an eye on you if anything happened to him, which I did. Don’t blame yourself.”

                Jesse scoffed and wanted his eyes to stop burning and swelling for once these past 2 days. Jack noticed and moved his head as much as he could, but it wasn’t enough and Jesse moved up from the chair, on the edge of the bed, and looked away.

                He rubbed his eyes with both hands as if that helped. “I am adult, I’m doing great.” He laughed false and wiped his face off on the sleeve of this expensive sweater. He felt bad. Jack rose his brows and moved to sit up. Jesse was quick to react. “Hey, you shouldn’t do that!”

                “Don’t tell me what to do.” Jack replied grumpy as he sat wobbly. He navigated his right hand on Jesse’s neck and pulled him into a hug. Jesse slid into that embrace without much ado, and not because he was worn out. While he always liked hugging people, this one left an odd impression since it did more than a hug would: it unbosomed genuine interest.

                He held tight onto Jack and buried his face on his shoulder. Jesse exhaled and finally found some rest there while he unwillingly inhaled the sterile scent of hospital clothing. This position reminded Jack on his other annoying wound and he moved his arm aside to plop back into the pillow.

                Considering himself useless, Jesse wondered if he needed anything. He allowed silence to rule the room for a while and watched Jack, who gave his eyes a rest again and merely listened to the little noises here and there. The explosion few years ago left its mark on him and Jesse hated himself for staring him for too long since it was an inadequate thing to do so. Out of a sudden, he became protective and furious, which heated up his cheeks. He needed a distraction.

                “Can I get you something?” Jesse asked.

                Jack pointed at the curtains and Jesse followed the finger. The hand dropped. “Water?”

                His weight disappeared as he rose off the bed to close the curtains. Jack sighed relieved and blinked into the darkened room, watching Jesse walk toward the sink and fill a plastic cup with water. Should Jesse alert the nurse? Before he could decide, a nurse entered and Jesse watched her approaching the bed while he held the water.

                Her voice was silent to him, it morphed into a wild arrangement of words. Jesse felt dizzy, perhaps he should have eaten something. The nurse beheld him. “Are you alright, sir?”

                Jesse didn’t know. “Yeah.”

                Another person entered the room and it was Liliana showing off her radiating natural authority. Her presence demanded more room than it was given. Her eyes lay on Jack before she noticed his glances directed at someone behind her, where Jesse stood. She turned around and judged his appearance, which burned right through him.

                “Would you mind leaving us alone for a second?” Her tone made it sound like a question, but it was a command.

                “Oh, you can’t even give him a moment to –“

                “Thank you.” She returned to face Jack and waited until Jesse smashed the cup on the table next to him to leave. Some of the water escaped the cup and he stomped outside. The nurse followed him in silence. Liliana stared at the cup and took it in Jesse’s stead, placing it onto the nightstand with more care.

                Jack didn’t speak. He crossed his arms and uttered a displeased noise with a smug face instead. He sulked.

                “Fancy.” She stated dry. “Seeing _you_ here of all people. Everyone thought you were dead.” She narrowed her eyes. Jack remembered her from the last days: a recruit, an analyst recently hired to help build up bases. She was smart, unabashed, and disciplined. They didn’t talk much though.

                “Same to you.”

                She opened one button on her blue jacket to make sitting on the bed more comfortable. Jack kept looking at her and felt trapped. He wished he could just leave the building and let it all go, but there was this question expanding on her face—he knew what was to come.

                “I am—“ She started speaking, but Jack closed his eyes and interrupted her. Which was an unusual thing for him to be doing.

                “I know who you are. I also know that you are part of the people who want to bring back Overwatch and try to fix the crap its people left on this world’s godforsaken soil. No thanks.”

                Liliana interlocked her fingers and placed the hand on one of her two thighs. Her smile was polite, not honest. “So, there are two possible outcomes. One: you are free to go, but Talon now found out who you are and they will find you, trust me. Two: I won’t let you go, and you will experience punishment for your past activities, because no matter your name, rules are rules.”

                “I very well know that. What is that offer of yours, the one that I _can’t refuse_? Rejoin? Me? Ha ha.” He coughed and made a face. Instant payback for a big mouth.

                She checked her nails. “It’s not like I didn’t know whom Jesse was meeting in the past days since I followed his strolls and conversations. The files you handed over, which I received, are interesting to me. There, however, is something you don’t know yet.”

                “Hm, blackmail.”

                “No,” Now her smile was less polite and more genuine. She pulled a little evidence bag out of her pocket and looked at the content; a bullet. Liliana held it up. “That bullet hitting you, which was supposed to be aimed at Jesse, is special ammunition able of cutting through several layers of gear. Created to oppose omnic forces. Does it look familiar?”

                He shrugged. “I’m not wearing my glasses.” He responded cocky with one eye open.

                “Blackwatch used these.”

                “Okay?”

                She put it down and remained silent for a while. As if she thought, and her eyes rested still on his face. He could see all these thoughts processing, trying to come to a good conclusion.

“Do you want to run down the streets of Mexico forever, or do you want to find out what happened to Reyes?”

                “There you go: blackmail. Don’t do that. Just put me in one of your fancy cells. I do like being indoors with a good book.”

                “Morrison.” She forced him to look at her. “This is not a joke. The news spread even faster these days and the threat is a serious issue.”

                “What happened to him?”

                “That is what I was trying to find out. I don’t know. You don’t, either. The difference between you and me is that I have the means, while you don’t if you continue playing dead. Think about it. Come see me when you feel better.”

                “Pah,” He was getting grumpier by the minute. “Young punks, thinking they know shit.”

                Liliana wanted to leave, but she halted midway and sighed. “Don’t get cocky on me, Morrison.” She picked up his file and reassured herself of his age. “You’re fifty-one. That’s not that old. Stop acting like a condescending mummy.” Then she departed and the room seemed much bigger now.

                “It was nice meeting you, too.” He mumbled and frowned. This exact event gave him reason to not do anything at all for five years, besides searching on his own and punching rude people in the face. Which was something. He tapped his fingers on his upper arms, stubborn and annoyed, he wanted to leave.

                “Fuck Talon.”

 

 

 

“What are you doing?” Jesse inquired. He looked at Jack’s back, which faced him, and watched his arms attending his legs. Few days passed and the state of his recovery reminded Jesse that he used to be one of the soldiers who went through chemical enhancements. With his gear almost complete he was more mobile, and his flushed skin underlined his well-being.

                “I’m getting dressed.” Jack replied deadpan.

                Jesse rolled his eyes at the tone and nodded. “I can see that, yeah. What I mean: what are you going to do?”

                “Oh, are you implying whether I will talk to your new supervisor and listen to her attempts of bringing me back so I can help a gorilla from the moon saving the world?” Jack turned his head and smirked at Jesse. He seemed so cheered up by the last thing that his eyes captured some of their former light. “I already did that.”

                Jesse’s brow arched and he sat next to him on the bed. Jack smelled like himself now and not disinfectant and old cotton. A good change. His eyes wrinkled gently as he smiled, mellow and shifty at the same time.

                “And…” Jesse leaned toward him. “Are you going to tell me any more details or do I have to beg you for it?”

                “I told her that I don’t want people to know who I am.”

                “You do know it’s pretty much obvious when they see your face, right?”

                Jack stretched his neck. “Yes. Still. Too much attention. Jack Morrison is dead. I buried him together with my past intentions. We’re not the same person and I couldn’t try being that person again. I don’t want people to think nothing’s changed. If I did, I would feel like an impostor.”

                Jesse drew back and rested his hands between his thighs. “You still have a lot in common with him, though.” His voice sounded teasing.

                “Huh,” Jack’s brows rose. “Maybe. Though I disagree.” Then he patted Jesse’s thigh with a wink and pushed himself off the mattress—he felt a little bit rusty.

                “So…?” Jesse still didn’t get the answer he asked for and his intense gaze locked Jack, who felt these eyes burn right through his back. Or was that something else, a memory perhaps he tried to forget?

                “For now, as long as I’m not having to reveal anything publicly, am forced to tell how that explosion fucked me up, et cetera, I may try to be some kind of asset.”

                That hit Jesse and he opened his mouth looking rather astonished. He then licked his lips and a smile grew on his face. Jack saw it as he turned away from the window, and it was an infectious smile wiping all the worry off his face. Happiness cheered Jesse up and his hands moved around his chest. With crossed arms, he twirled his lips. “What changed?”

                “Let’s say: I don’t want you to blow up. You’ll die without me.” In truth, it wasn’t the uttered joke of prospecting Jesse’s demise that convinced him to do something for Liliana, or anyone else. Although Jack disagreed with the rebuilt, and fear and anxiety captured him. His heart pounded against his ribcage and he wanted the fear to vanish. What was he afraid of? Of continued failure? Seeing old faces? Being judged? All of it?

                “I need coffee.” Jack stated dry and waited for Jesse to get up and join him. He never thought about cherishing this particular person’s presence as much as today.

                “The coffee here is horrible.” Jesse followed the non-verbal command and unlocked his arms. “But sure, we can get you some coffee.”

                “Let’s see how many of these guards will follow us. I’m feeling so important.”

                Jack doubted everything and that wasn’t based on his natural suspicion. Right now, he still was a prisoner and a convict; vigilantism was not exactly a virtue. He hid his face on their way through the building, all eyes on them, and Jack tried to rid himself of the tensing anxiety. He used to enjoy eyes clinging to his frame, in awe and admiration, because they told him he did something good. He made people happy, and he supported their freedom. When he was younger he was so idealistic that it hurt in retrospect, so lawful, and too convinced that rules mattered. And they did, but some should have been broken, too. His loyalty to these rules blinded him for anything else. Thus, he hated attention.

                The plan was to work in a small recon team, take out single targets, eliminate minor threats. To achieve said goal, one needed this team to have a good skillset. Tactics, close combat, range. Liliana assigned Jack, Jesse, and Hanzo to this task unbeknownst if this would work. These three men were too different, but she liked taking risks.

                Jesse followed him and a faceless soldier through the building. It would be a long walk and he thought a chat would erase the boredom, yet there was nothing good he could come up with. Jack side-eyed him and his desperate search for words. Eyes danced, mouth twitched, then he looked down and scratched his hairy face. Age suited Jesse well, so found Jack. Then he remembered one of the last times he saw him, a man recently passing thirty, pushing himself into the corner of a military vehicle like a wounded animal. And he was wounded back then. He tried to hide pain and frustration since Gabriel wasn’t there to chase away unwanted onlookers. Jesse sat there, staring, clenching his jaw with a tight grip on the mess that was his lower arm. He didn’t dare looking at it because the sight of blood unsettled him. Jack went out there to find his partner’s protégé as though that was his only duty. Upon finding him, he didn’t know if comforting words were the right approach to this matter. He still looked at him with the same confusion later in the shuttle, quickly leaving the hellish warzone. Jack took off his coat and walked over to cover him and offer warmth. Some first aid items lay scattered on the floor and as Jack crouched to adjust the coat, Jesse looked at him in such a way that it cut right through him. _Don’t touch me._ He didn’t know it was pride, and not resentment.

                Jesse’s always been too smart for his own good. And too proud, too mature for his age when he just arrived. He wanted to be treated like an adult but also demanded a lot of care non-verbally, which he found in Gabriel, who took care of both as a subordinate as well as a friend. It must have hurt so much to hear the news of Gabriel’s death.

                Was it similar to his own? This heart-wrenching pain taking away sleep? _It will be fine._ He told himself many times, and many times did he give up. When you love someone with such intensity, their loss feels like a world turning into a wide void. Nothing there but waste and hunger. Fire, burning through skin and exposing flesh and bone while you try to keep walking. He walked for a long time, now he was nothing but a skeleton rattling in a storm that would never end. Jack needed something to hold on to, but he did not find anything at all.

                Jack didn’t talk to anyone about anything, and he wanted to, but there was nobody he trusted his personal, sensitive thoughts with. There was a monster inside him he wanted to let out, a rabid hound gorging on his insides and the beast was hungry. Feeding it would suffice for now, so Jack looked for coffee after entering a sealed room. Two brown eyes watched the entrant from behind a holographic globe. Hanzo crossed his arms and monitored Jack through the curtain of his long lashes. He imagined him to be taller, somewhat more gripping, and especially loud. The only time he has encountered American G.I.s was in the movies he had to watch with his brother. Commanders, generals, admirals—they all carried an attitude with them that required an extra muscle.

                In the comfort of Jesse’s presence, as well as the dark room lit by holographs and small lights, Jack took off his visor and nursed the cup of coffee.

                Hanzo studied him as though Jack was a painting and he the art historian: the hair wasn’t tended to, giving him a miraculously juvenile expression. One hand rested on the platform before him. Fingertips gently tapped on faces and map points, which his eyes attentively followed. The orange and white of the globe before him and the lights of the screens painted flattering reflections on his face. Jack was a handsome man; those stories were true. Hanzo however was unimpressed by the fact that he was a legend, and he thought that Jack didn’t think so either. Maybe, just a little bit, Hanzo was somewhat starstruck. He narrowed his eyes.

                Jack noticed the dark eyes on his face and glanced along his mug to find out who was lurking in the shadows. He found him and downed the mug. His rosy lips twitched instead of smiling, he forgot how to do that on command. His eyes told a different tale. “I’m sorry, I haven’t introduced myself to you, have I?” He said.

                Hanzo picked up his tea. “I don’t think you have to.” He sounded harsh and it was his intention.

                “Fair enough.” Jack squinted his eyes at the bright screen. He once knew how to adjust all the tech so it wouldn’t hinder him more than it already did and so he toyed with the settings until the light was more bearable. He exhaled relieved and continued refreshing his ancient knowledge.

                Jesse was quiet and just remained in a darker corner next to a blue screen with crossed arms. Leaning back, one foot crossing the other by its ankle. They were both so silent and agonizing to watch. It amused Jesse and he twisted his lips in a soundless smirk. How much fire could this room take? Or: how much personality? Hanzo was the quiet type, but his presence needed no effort to gain attention. His stern face still focused on Jack with a cup of tea held up to hide his lips. Out of nowhere, Jesse’s mind played a trick on him and he saw the archer on the platform with the mug covering his crotch. He cleared his throat after choking on his saliva and moved off the wall. Compared to all the other sounds inside this room, the noise wasn’t loud and yet, both men looked at him appalled.

                “What?” He asked annoyed. “Do I need your highnesses permission to cough?” Jesse frowned annoyed and poured himself coffee with extra cream since he felt needy. He stirred the beverage aggressively and watched the whirling fluid.

                Meanwhile, Jack made a face and shook his head softly. He never asked for any of this, it just happened that he had an idea and he wanted to make it reality. Then he became strike-commander and while he possessed aspirations, he didn’t want it. He didn’t blame the responsibility that came with it or the non-stop availability from his side, but the mere fact that he never asked to lead anything. Now, he sat here stuck in the same position. Jack didn’t want this.

                “Excuse me.” He stammered, grabbed his visor and rushed outside. Hanzo watched him and then he looked at Jesse who himself looked rather confused. Their eyes met and Jesse gestured what he wanted from him.

                “He is _your_ friend.” Hanzo replied dry and focused on the platform.

                Jesse needed a moment to understand that it would be wise to check on Jack, and so he did. He wasn’t far. He stood by a railing and stared into space, letting the light hurt his eyes before he closed them. His hands rested on the railing and he gripped the metal as he inhaled.

                “You just walked out like that.” Jesse pointed to his face.

                Jack snorted.

                Jesse drank his coffee. He swallowed and looked down into the green wide world. There was a garden and its scent rose with the air and elated his senses. “I don’t know, but sunglasses would help with that, too.” He noticed the problems with his eyes and one of his hand joined Jack’s on the railing before he leant against it with his other arm. Jesse looked up at Jack that way, who stood tall before him with a warning look on his face. _A hungry dog._

                Jesse waited for a snarl, but instead there were words. It carried the same message. “I didn’t ask for your advice.”

                Jesse shrugged one shoulder. “Neither did I.”

                “What is it?” Jack looked away for a while. Jesse tilted his head; the sun coming out snuck through the strands and lit them up. It cast shadows on Jack’s face as his eyes returned to Jesse.  They lasted there for a while, something he could get used to. There was the peacefulness he looked for in a way. Trust. Did he even know how to write that word?

                “Let me guess: this got something to do with Reyes, right?”

                “None of your business.” Jack tried to not get bothered by this pair of fierce brown eyes on his face. He focused on the plants. “Listen, I’m sorry.” Jack said and he shuffled, balancing his weight from one leg to the other. “I’m not into this crap. I did it for years because people expected that and not because I wanted it. What I wanted was to help people and punch bullies. There might be enough qualities in me to lead a group of people into changing everything into a better, but I hate it. I hate it more than I ever did before and I was so glad that everyone thought I died. Burying this goddamn hero everyone wanted who had no fucking backbone to stand up and say that he didn’t want it. But hey: it’s a once in a lifetime experience and you want to impress your parents, right?” Jack scoffed. Jesse didn’t know that he could be so bitter.

                “I see the same shit happen again and I am not in the mood for it.

Now, you’re standing there with the same, smug attitude as back then and nothing changed there either. You were too smart for your own good and that didn’t change. The funny thing is that Gabriel had the exact same attitude; and he was just a little older than you when you first showed up. He was streetwise, calculated, rebellious. Good for him. He pulls the same damn smug face every fucking time someone tried to outwit him while he made you think that he knows shit. The two of you have a lot in common. And that damn look on your face…” Jack hated how much Jesse reminded him on Gabriel.

                Jesse didn’t know if that was a compliment but he followed his statement and understood why he was angry. He himself never thought that they were much alike, it amused him. “I appreciate your honesty.” Jesse bantered.

Jack smacked his lips. “No. Don’t look at me as if you expect some kind of sympathy or a thing to bond over. Don’t do that.”

                Jesse seemed confused and he truly wondered why Jack said that. “What are you talking about?”

                Jack made a dismissive gesture. After a while, he looked back at Jesse and it was long and intense. “You know exactly what I mean.”

                Jesse stayed silent and his eyes were still glued on that illuminated appearance before him, with the grey glistening hair, like silver in the sun, and the tired eyes ready to rest for a long time. Why would he keep staring? He was being rude. He didn’t know what kind of feeling that he was he had any time they met. It wasn’t the same he felt during nights with someone he found attractive enough to fuck, it wasn’t the same he shared with Ana or Gabriel. It was a different kind of sensation he was insecure about. Friendship did not feel like this, either.

                “Okay,” Jesse said as the perfect, highly intellectual response to his monologue.

                “Don’t mock me.” Jack avoided eye contact now and reposed inside his favorite shell made of joked insults and denial. Jesse opened his mouth long before he spoke and he quirked one of his brows. It ruffled his forehead and he exhaled loud before actual words made their way ahead. He blinked.

                “I would never dare to mock you, sir, because I might hurt some of that untouchable ego of yours. How do you even make room for you and that ego? Jesus Christ on a cracker.” He loosened up, looking at Jack while he rose to stand. It felt like an explosion.

                “Exercise.”

 

* * *

 

_When you grow up, you’re transitioning from kid to adult without any time in between because people expect you to mature within only one year. Suddenly, you’re supposed to comprehend complex, adult themes and just these little things, such as doctor’s appointments, on your own without much further ado. You’re an adult now. As if a number defined your adulthood. Statistically, it does._

_And when you’re a kid, you’re so intensely idealistic. “When I grow up, I want to do this and that.” Where are you today? In your bedroom, hiding underneath a thick blanket from everything the world is expecting from you. Bills? Not today. Your final assignments, your work, everything. It is everything you wish to run away from. You stare at screens and escape this bitter reality by imagining fictional events, and yet there, in all that avoidance and apparent pessimism, you’re still the same, little idealist with the same old fascination pulling you out there. Although you’re pretty much exhausted, discussions took their toll, confrontations worn you out. All you want right now is a hot cup of tea or coffee and a place to run to. It happens at any age, but when you’re my age, you just seem to understand the nihilism in anything. Is it even worth it to get up every day, to finish this and that? What purpose lies behind the never-ending parade of skills and talents? I’ve given up and somehow, I still want people to remember. I was there once, long ago, and I thought: Hey, let’s do something that makes my time worth it! You connect and you fight, for whatever reason, and then you get hit and sit down. You sit for too long and haven’t noticed that everyone around you stood up again and left. Then you get up again, too, and everyone has already done everything and you just wonder where time has gone to? Did it vanish? Did someone erase it? You become angry and want to make up for lost moments. Where was the period that your parents told you about, you know, that period in your late twenties when you’re supposed to make your first real adult experiences and maybe find a significant other. Where is that feeling of enlightenment, where is that feeling of satisfaction? Thing is, you’ll never feel it until you die. You’ll look back and find out that your life was amazing, or not, mostly you’ll be happy in those few moments before you die. “Oh yes, the day that this happened! Haha, what a lucky fool I am!”_

_Now imagine you wake up, after dying, and you must go on and satisfy yourself again. What would you do? It’s like writing a story, but ‘this time, I will do different things’. Yeah, I know._


	7. The jackal howled and it lured the wolf out of his cave; the lion watched

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jesse has a bad day, Hanzo and Jack try to make it better. Memories interrupt casual encounters. Sass saves the day but also that goes a little bit wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Please don't kill me over that quote at the beginning, but I love that song. I am also sorry for this opening scene.)
> 
> It contains a lot of the three relationships featured in this fic, because I didn't need feelings and like suffering in various ways. I hope you enjoy my attempt of describing subtle romance ascending slowly and painfully. There is another hug because... who doesn't like those?
> 
> There is not much sensitive content here this time aside from depression mentions.

 

 

 

 

 

> Twenty-five years and my life is still  
>  Trying to get that great big hill of hope  
>  For a destination
> 
> And so I wake in the morning  
>  And I step outside  
>  And I take a deep breath and I get real high  
>  And I scream from the top of my lungs  
>  What's going on?

([x](https://www.google.nl/search?source=ig&hl=en&rlz=&q=what%27s+up+lyrics&btnG=Google+Search&oq=brown+cry&gws_rd=cr,ssl&ei=tOUlWZTeB4XXwALgt4nADA))

Jesse woke up to a song on the podcast he started listening to when he couldn’t sleep. Somehow, he fell asleep, looked baffled as that dream stopped and he stared into a bright bundle of sunlight. “Oh, please, don’t.” He said. As if that big glowing orb would listen to him. Hell, he didn’t even listen to himself. He kicked off the thin blanket and sat on his bed. Chewing gum still stuck to his teeth and removed it quite charmingly by picking on his ivories. Jesse grimaced and threw it into a nearby bin.

 _You’re representing humanity at its peak._ Then he moved up, adjusted his underpants-- stuck between his buttocks— and scratched his head. He wished that avoiding pants was socially acceptable inside this building, but it was not and so he looked for them in a small pile of clothes on the floor. There were leftovers, an empty bottle of whiskey, and a pen. Why did he have a pen? He couldn’t remember its purpose and placed it on the desk. He blew a raspberry once he forced himself into the pants, kind of too tight today and too dirty, and moved out. He turned back, found headphones and decided to listen to this podcast for longer. The bright hallways lit people up, and that made him grumpy. How could anybody be this delighted at this time of the day? Jesse checked the time and it was almost 10 o’clock in the morning. Why was he up? How long did he sleep?

                He entered the smaller mess hall in the south wing and joined some personnel talking, probably greeting him, but he didn’t hear them. Jesse grabbed a mug and filled it with coffee. How much did he drink? _Enough to make this coffee even more disgusting._

                Jesse became annoyed by the crowd, since it wasn’t small enough to be quiet, or big enough to remain unnoticed. He took the coffee and moved to the training court without the intention of becoming somewhat physically active. He walked over to a desk by the edge of the training folk and leant against its desktop. When he saw all those people, he wondered why the hell Liliana thought that he was anything good. He could shoot… hell, everyone here could. He arched his brows and drank his coffee. There weren’t many people around yet, enough to make sure he felt rather a unskilled though. There were four or five people trying to get better at whatever they were good at.

                Jesse found someone familiar and his eyes automatically fixated on his silhouette. He really didn’t take off that mask. He watched Jack walking around there with his _old man attitude,_ swearing at everything he saw. His stares were a little too intense and he focused on his pad instead. _Too many looks._ Jesse told himself, still glancing at him on the sly until he found something good enough to read, though he disliked reading the news these days. Jesse searched for news of a country too far away and amused himself with the latest gossip from Lithuania. He liked doing that, because it was random and he never went to Lithuania. Any country he knew little of, he’d search and it was quite a blast to read news from these countries. Who was _Agatha_? He frowned.

                Someone pulled out his left headphone and harkened to the song playing. Jesse’s head shot up offended and ripped it out of Jack’s hand. “What the fuck?” He held it in his hand.

                “Do you want to do something or is sitting here with that enormous stick up your ass more delightful?” Jack sounded cheeky. That was new.

“You also wearin’ that mask when you take a shi’?” His accent was thick this morning because he was hungover and tired. And not a morning person. And annoyed because hated the tone in Jack’s voice. He wished that stick was something else. He coughed because the coffee went into the wrong tube. Jesse shrugged his shoulders with a twisted mouth.

Jack sighed and tousled his hair. Then he walked off and Jesse hid a tiny smile behind his mug. He wondered what would happen if anyone else, still alive and back at it, met this new-found identity of Jack’s? Would they recognize him? His outward behavior wasn’t much alike to his former self. The walk was slightly different, which could be based off former injuries and what it took to repair broken body parts. Whomever put him back together… Jesse pondered about their identity. He reflected on the last time that he saw him: hair dull from age, eyes bright enough to keep people watching, bent over paperwork while chewing on his bottom lip. The walk _was_ different now. Heavier and deliberate as if he was in constant council with himself. Jesse noticed how he could still stare at him for hours and never tire.

It was funny how someone could change within five years. Jesse didn’t know yet if he liked it.

“What are you brooding about?”

                Jesse exhaled annoyed because he didn’t see this coming. “Do that one more time and I will shoot you another hole in your ass.” He said to Hanzo.

                “What exactly? Making remarks about your overall outlook?”

                “Sneaking up on me like that.”

                “Oh.” Hanzo said. He stood next to him and followed Jesse’s eyes to see whatever occupied his gaze; and not foolish, Jesse looked at someone else. Someone played on an acoustic guitar as he found out by turning off his device. Jesse remembered that Gabriel played guitar, and he did so with talent. There were times when he tried to teach Jesse, but Jesse wasn’t the most musical person and so he gave up. Somewhere there in a corner, _someone strummed on a damn guitar in this doomed building_ , playing tribute to the shitty past and taking him down memory lane. What a way to start a day. There was this one singer Gabriel liked the most, and Jesse thought that to be a woman called Betty Davis. He couldn’t remember if that was correct, though.

                People passed, chatted, and laughed. Their moves were fast and uncoordinated, at least that’s how it felt to him. They were a homogenous mass and he was a satellite just floating around, looking for something to focus on. The lights? The guitar-play? Everyone was either busy with themselves or others, which he didn’t want to interrupt. Next to him sat a man who despised most company in reach and yet he sat here. Did he intend to bond with him because they were supposed to work together? Running out of self-discipline and in a common reflex, he focused back on Jack. They both did and neither one of them thought to mention that. Hanzo nursed his tea and trailed off in thought. How long would it take until Jack noticed the spies in their hideout? Hanzo found that there was something beautiful in the simplicity of his moves, something soothing. As though one watched a child tumble through the garden, or a baker rolling and tossing dough. The dough slapped the hands, landed on a wooden tabletop and they rolled it through the flour. That was exactly the feeling.

                Jesse disrupted the quiet by complaining about the guitar.

                Hanzo looked at him to his left. “Do you feel constipated?”

                “No. I remember how I tried learning that damn instrument, but since I’m not good at anything… I failed.”

                “For how long did you exercise?”

                “A month.”

                “Of course, you won’t succeed then.” Hanzo smacked his lips. “It takes time to acquire a new skill. If you took the time, you would have learned how to play guitar.”

                “Yeah! I dare you to try and teach me something.” Jesse joked. Hanzo was a venturer by nature and so he thought this to be exquisitely amusing. He happened to be a good teacher, too, so he knew. Or believed so. Hanzo never spent time training anyone, but it’s always been on his mind. Perhaps it was part of his attempted improvements personality-wise.

                “I guess this is how the world decided to punish me then.” He said. “I take this as a subtle hint to teach how to use a bow.”

                Jesse’s frown changed to laughter and swayed from left to right. “Ah! Yes! Teach me how to use a bow.” He calmed down abruptly. “Good show.” He emptied his mug and swallowed. While he did, he found Hanzo’s eyes forcing him to take this matter serious. “No way.” Jesse replied to his non-verbal taunt.

                “So,” Hanzo interlocked his fingers on his crotch after placing the tea on the table. “You just stay here and brood about how terrible you are at things instead?”

                Jesse nodded. “Yes.”

                Hanzo stood and walked over to the shooting range. “Enjoy yourself then, my friend.”

 _My friend._ Jesse chortled. It was busy over there at the shooting range: different kinds of people did different kinds of things. A soldier instructed a nurse, and they both had the time of their lives. A woman cleaned and prepared weapons, a mug in front of her with a teabag inside. It wasn’t Ana though which disappointed him. His eyes went back to Hanzo and he investigated that thin, white shirt he was wearing. The artful design on his arm shimmied through the cloth and he remembered that intrusive picture of him in the control room. _I didn’t ask for this._ Jesse rose one brow and growled through an opened mouth.

                “You’re taking this very serious, aren’t you?” Jesse pointed at Hanzo’s determined expression.

                “I do.”

                Hanzo was eager to teach him because he thought that some new endeavor would be good for his mind. When there was nothing else to focus on other than physical exercise, he could concetrate on that and tire himself enough to retort to a healthy sleep routine. If that was possible. Jesse gave in and moved off the table. He followed him through the small crowd. Jesse found Jack in the crowd he passed, and he tracked Jesse with his eyes, who cringed at a snap penetrating the right half of his head. Instead of Jack, he saw someone else. Someone he used to be familiar, too. Exchanging looks. His eyes were sneaky and delighted. Gabriel’s face disappeared and Jesse rubbed his temple. Those memories needed to stop. How could he convince Liliana that they weren’t useful anymore?

                Hanzo had arrived and tended to his arrows with utmost care. Jesse shook his head and looked at them. He stepped closer and picked up one of the arrows. “I thought you’d make them yourself?”

                Hanzo’s face lost its tightness. “This is the 21st century.”

                “Oh, gosh! I haven’t noticed.” Jesse put it back down.

Hanzo offered him the bow and Jesse took it. It was light and cold, only the spot where his hand held it before conserved residue of warmth. The archer’s eyes rested on him for a while and he didn’t know why, until he gestured him to stand a certain way. When that didn’t work out, he sighed and used it hands to direct him into the correct position. Having accomplished that, Hanzo checked his work and shook his head overloaded.

                Hanzo’s hand rested on his lower back and he pushed it. “You’ve got a slouch.” Then he also pushed his shoulders back. “Good.”

                “Painful.” Jesse complained.

                “Pain is a good instructor.” Hanzo gave him an arrow and let him figure out how to do it while watching him with patience. Jesse aimed. “Now, stand still.” He said and let Jesse pull for a couple of minutes before Hanzo adjusted his posture again.

                “The longer I stand like that, the stiffer I become. I feel muscles in my arms I’ve never felt before.” Jesse niggled. “I’m not trained the same way you were, you know that?”

                Hanzo snorted. “You do need a lot of exercise. How do you get out of bed?”

                “There’s this thing I like: a drink and food. That’s what I get out of bed for.”

                Hanzo stood behind him and lifted Jesse’s elbow with his index finger. Standing like this, he answered: “This is both fascinating and saddening news.”

                “Could you judge someone else, please?”

                “Fine.” Hanzo raised his brow. “You may shoot if you like, if you’re able to control your breathing ever since your lungs must be in a horrible state.”

                The taunt did its work and the arrow fell instead of rushing onward.

                Hanzo covered half of his face with one hand. “Well done.”

                “Thanks!” Jesse went to pick it up. “I hope you regret giving me this opportunity!”

                “My life is a string of regretful choices and awful decisions. Worry not: you will be nothing compared to that.”

                With the arrow in his fist, Jesse turned around and poked Hanzo’s chest with his knuckles. “You’re such a little shit…!”

                Hanzo wrapped the hand up in his own to keep him from poking. “You remind me on the tanuki: people think you’re either a racoon or a dog, but you’re actually neither.”

                “I don’t follow.”

                “Oh, you probably don’t know the tanuki stories. I’m not going to lay that out for you.”

                Jesse didn’t mind his hand being held, and shifted his position into a more comfortable one. “Now you got me curious, though.”

                “They are drinking, mischievous little rascals who cause a lot of confusion and love pranks. They possess huge testicles which they use to pester everyone with.”

                Jesse opened his mouth and as he finally spoke, he smiled faux. “I feel offended.”

                “You don’t necessarily have to.” His lips twitched in amusement. Jesse’s smile softened and turned into an almost charming sign of adoration. He looked down at the hands and that was when Hanzo removed his. That was disappointing because he liked how rugged the hand felt on his. He had a thing for uneven surfaces. Jesse drummed the arrow on Hanzo’s chest. “You’ve got to make up for this constant persiflage.”

                “It seems, however, that you don’t mind that after all.” Hanzo said as Jesse continued the exercise.

                Jesse grunted because his body was tense and nervous. He wanted to do something, act on the mysterious demands he suffered from as of late, but he had no clue on how to do that without appearing desperate or invasive. As though he burst into flames and there was nothing left but a pile of ash. He also did not know what to say because he disliked being perceived as rude. Out of a sudden, he felt self-conscious.

                “I don’t think that I’m meant to do this archer-thing.” He said as he aimed again, dropped his arms and looked down at his hands. “You know: they tried to train me to become a sniper. I didn’t have the patience for that.”

                “Do you always give up so easily?” Hanzo inquired.

                Jesse huffed. “It’s not giving up; it’s being comfortable with what you’ve got. Being risky put me in a lot of fucked up situations.”

                “The only regretful thing that will happen now is that you’ll shoot your own foot.” Hanzo stood beside him and placed his hands on his arms, to show him the right position, while he looked ahead. Jesse’s skin ruffled, and a dozen pinpricks rushed across his body, leaving him in shivers caused by the closeness. Goosebumps and lightening. Peculiar.

                “The thing about archery,” Hanzo said in a low voice, and Jesse could feel the breath on his cheek. It resembled cold velvet. “You’re distracted from everything else which bothered you for a long time. There’s only you and the target. You focus on your arm and watch the target; if it is a moving one, you learn a lot about it while your eyes tense and your arm pulls. There might even be a feeling of superiority, because you’ve learned their procedures and body language within only a mere number of seconds or minutes. You don’t connect, you don’t feel. If you do, then you won’t shoot and the one chance you’ve had will be gone. Don’t think too much.”

                “I don’t usually do that.” Jesse tried to rid himself of certain emotions with the help of a joke. Hanzo’s right hand wandered downward and halted on his back, which made him flinch.

                “You, my friend, think way too much. Inside your mind there is chaos; but that isn’t a bad thing.”

                “Funny when you’re saying that.”

                “I am self-aware now. You, on the other hand, avoid being self-aware and just spill out everything to get rid of it. Talking away your discomfort.” His hand lowered further and Jesse inhaled the warm, dry air in a deep breath. Jesse held it before he let it go again, in synchronization with the arrow. It hit bullseye.

                “See. Focus and silence can help sometimes.” Hanzo pointed to the arrow stuck in the board.

                Jesse downed his arms slow and looked at the same direction throughout their chat. “Do you ever talk to your brother?” It sounded sincere.

                “Yes.”

                “Did he forgive you?”

                “I think so.”

                “Did you forgive yourself?”

                Hanzo looked down and licked his lips. Jesse thought that it was the wrong question considering his behavior, which included lifting the hands off his body and taking the bow out of his grip before turning away. He watched him place the bow onto the tabletop before him.

                “Hey, I didn’t mean to be rude.” Jesse said spiteful.

                “I think that we’re done for today.” Hanzo replied, and all the sincerity, that has been there before, left his speech and a cold, monotone flow remained.

                Jesse joined and beheld him. “All I wanted was to—“

                “Why do men like you never understand the concept of respecting someone else’s wishes for silence?”

                Jesse cleared his throat and nodded in defeat. His fingertips danced on the table’s surface as he left and the pair of brown eyes rested on his back went unnoticed.

 

 

 

 

                The third match broke and Jesse tossed it onto the ground where it joined the others. A fourth and fifth followed until he dropped it and cursed the matchbox. Old thigs weren’t as reliable as people told them to be. He was on the roof and joined the moon in its journey around the world. At least for the time being. The moonlight felt better than the sun. Throughout the day, Jesse experienced several memories and they clogged his flow of thought. The few remains of focus abandoned him in a desert while he was thirsty for some uplifting experience. All these memories contained Gabriel, and that made it worse. Some of the memories were truly too personal and he wished to forget them. He wondered how it was to live with these memories being your own. Painful, degrading memories reminding the original source on how wonderful things were once before they turned to shit. What an impact must this have been, this partnership. Sometimes, he longed for the same, but in the know of how things might end, he tossed that in the trash.

                Jesse fumbled with the matchbox again because his nerves demanded nicotine. He wanted to quit once. It never happened. Nimble, nude hands took the box and stroke a match for him. Jesse looked up. Irritated.

                “Are you still spying on me?” He asked Jack. He didn’t want to be rude to him.

                “You make it easy.” He offered the flame and Jesse used it.

                Smoke soared to the sky and Jack wrinkled his nose. He hated the smell. Jesse looked up at his revealed face. Up here, there was nobody to worry about and it came to Jesse’s mind that this might have been his true reason for being here, too. The moon forced Jack’s shadow on the ground and Jesse reminded himself on the fact that this wasn’t a ghost anymore. He was real and he was here. Sometimes, he had issues comprehending that. As if he still dreamed, and that dream hurt him. If he concluded that it was real, so he feared, that bubble might burst and everything was gone again.

                “I wonder,” Jesse held the cigarette with his lips. It wiggled with every word. “All the memories: are they as heavy on your mind as they are on mine or am I being sensitive?”

                “Huh,” Jack looked at him somewhat concerned. “They still keep going on with that?”

                “It’s not easy turning that off.” Jesse believed that Liliana distrusted Jack.

                “Right.” Jack didn’t know how to reply. He wished he could turn them off himself. “They aren’t all that bad.” Jack replied to the first question and his fingers drummed on his thighs.

 _Liar._ Jack confused him since he was 19. He was truly a very boring man on first sight: a farmer with bright hair, from Indiana and if you thought that it couldn’t be more bland and dry, he was also a soldier without any hobbies. Then you’d find out that he liked literature. You learned that he was caring and that he liked old music, but not as in _old_ but ancient. The blues that ripped through your body and left a mark on your heart. He liked to learn about different cultures and was the first one to get lost in a new town because he saw something interesting, and one more, one thing after another until he had no idea where he was. The worst thing was that he was quite charming beneath that layer of dutifulness.

                Who was Jesse in comparison to that? A fucking cowboy. He thought that, deep inside, there hid the same man staring at life out of sight, stuck in a corner. Waiting to be summoned.

                “I found an old book inside an abandoned flat.” Jesse said and roused attention. Jack just stood there in silence. The light found him and lit up his eyes. They were as blue as the shell which harbored them. And Jack, he noticed that weakness he had seen once. Jesse wasn’t someone to show that; he covered it all behind a lot of confidence, gained over the years, and he was an expert at making people believe in what they saw at first glance. A memory of the day that they went to take down the street gang he used to be a part unfurled and he saw it again: the young adult captured, in pain, and crying. He was there that day and didn’t know what to do with that boy who tried so hard to be an adult. It was a day when Jack thought to have lost all compassion until that person next to him tried to not cry and swallow the tears. Always stubborn and fighting, no matter how tired he looked to the world. Jack admired that in Jesse: his constant demand to keep going. He probably didn’t know that about himself.

                Jesse continued after a pause. “I have no idea what the handwritten note on the first page said, but it’s strange what you find when you aren’t looking for it.”

                “Did you read it?”

                “Half.”

                Jack chuckled genuine. Jesse looked down and exhaled smoke. All the memories about Reyes unsettled him and he thought about the things said this morning, how he blurted out thought to rid himself of the emotions that dragged behind them. Smashed into his face, bruising it. He never talked about it.

                As though Jack could read his mind, he tilted his head and the light vanished from his eyes and reappeared on his cheek. “You know, you can talk to me if you want to.”

                “I can’t.” He admitted and his moves halted, as if his body was aware of his lacking courage. Jack wanted to touch his shoulder, but refrained from it midway.

                “I understand.” Jack replied calm.

                “You don’t.” Jesse faked a sardonic smile. “You don’t understand it at all.”

                “Then make me understand?”

                “Hey, it wasn’t me who said to not bond over this.” Jesse’s mouth was dry. His stomach was a battlefield and so was his head. He felt anxious.

“It was the first time in my life that anyone actually gave an honest fuck.” Jesse’s face wrinkled. “And I didn’t know why, because I wasn’t used to it. What I was used to were people seeing some… leverage. Not an individual person, more of a way to get something. Something like: _You there, you’ve got talent! Let’s use it for our own damn good._ Then some dude shows up and tells me that I’m someone who needs to eat a damn sandwich, and then he tells me that he wants to help me. Why? I never knew because he changed and disappeared, and I never got to ask him why he gave a damn in the first place when all he wanted was trying to get me to be doing something eventually.”

                Jack listened and heard his voice break in the middle of the next sentence. “He died and I accepted the loss, hell, I mourned him, too. The only damn person who ever, authentically, gave a damn about me. I learned how to deal with that and the less I thought about, the less it hurt, you know. Now, I see his fucking shit every damn time and I don’t want to see it because…” He scoffed and smiled weak. “Whatever.”

                Jack touched his upper arm as though that would be uplifting. “There are worse things in the world though,” Jesse continued, “so, I’ve got no reason to complain, yeah.”

                “You may complain about whatever you want. It’s your right as a person.” Jack looked at his hand on the upper arm. “That’s the biggest strength: to be empathetic, not many people are like that anymore. It’s not a weakness.”

                “Huh.” Jesse’s right hand rubbed his nose, to prevent it from running or simply to focus. Jack’s hand moved up and patted his cheek now, and it came to Jesse’s surprise. “You’re a good man, Jesse McCree, when you remain honest to whom you are. Don’t change that.”

                Jesse nodded and avoided the reassuring look because his eyes stung, a sensation he hated. No feelings, no regrets. Laughter was the best medicine, but he came short of that, too. Just some overly amusing remarks left behind whenever he was giving a part of him away. The hand, long removed, dangled next to his thigh now and Jesse’s cheek felt as hot as after a slap. “Thanks.”

                Jack cleared his throat. “You want a hug now, too?” It was deadpan and Jesse, stuck between teary-eyed and snotty, laughed and it blew away the rain clouds above his head. “Yeah. That would totally add to that Hollywood-esque moment. Just some oddly arranged strings and piano—“

Before he could finish, he found himself trapped into an experience was getting used to. Something he began to relish. _I am a grown-up man, no nineteen-year-old with a silly fondness._ Yet he found himself in such joy that he forgot to let go as Jack decided that this hug was long enough. At the same time, he felt selfish. “I’m sorry. I keep talking about myself.”

“Don’t be sorry about that. You don’t talk that much.”

                Jesse chewed on the cigarette’s butt.

“Are you hungry?” Jack joked and Jesse cleared his throat. “No. Oral fixation.”

Jack seemed amused and drummed his fingers against his matchbox now instead of his thighs. He was looking for a conversation changer, one could see that by how his eyes danced back and forth. “So, how did you sleep?” Even that radiated interest.

                Jesse, assuming it was a trick question, replied after a pause. “Good.” He nodded. “Yeah. You?”

                “Alright.”

                “No, you didn’t sleep well. You look like you’ve went through a meat cutter and someone put you back together.”

                “That is… very imaginative.” Jack raised his head. “All I wanted was a conversation, and now I stand here laying out a lack of sleep routine.”

                Jesse smiled. “You don’t have to.”

                “I’ll sleep when I’m dead. Knowing how it feels, I might just skip that part, too.” This statement made Jesse laugh. He apologized for it. “Don’t be sorry for an old fuck with a lot of baggage.”

                “Just a tip: baggage isn’t supposed to be worn under your eyes.”

                “Will you now?”

                “I’m just saying. Though you’ve got to put that life advice somewhere.”

                Jack tossed the matchbox against Jesse’s chest. “I never really liked you. Now I know why.”

                Jesse knitted his brow in faux offense. “Why would you not like me? I’m charming, handsome, and intelligent.”

                “I am afraid that you’re neither. However,” Jack listened to Jesse’s chuckling before he continued, “No. It’s not like I hated you. You were an intense person in a way.”

                “Oh, you mean _difficult_ but it would have hurt if you said that?”

                “Difficult is not a good word to describe a person. All these years I was so uncomfortable with the way you just death-glared at everyone, especially me, that I gave up. Little did I know that this is your usual expression.”

                Jesse chortled.

                The wind went through Jack’s hair and tousled it. Jesse found that it gave him some loveable charm. He succumbed to that long ago. He reached out to pick up the matches since the bad habit asked for more, and Jack did the same for other reasons. His bad habit: the urge to move. By being still, he felt like a trapped animal. A lion in zoo, caught, having a deathwish. Pacing was the only solution. He picked it up and fidgeted with the pack, which made Jesse nervous and he reached out to take it out of his hand. He woke Jack who looked down, then up to his eyes and the glance was equal to a knife stabbing Jesse’s heart. Not because it was mean, or especially judgmental. Quite the opposite: bemused and joyful at the same time. Jesse’s hand froze while it was hovering above Jack’s, who smirked and held the box up for him to take. As it rested still between thumb and index finger, he took it slow and arched a brow and lit another cigarette. He wished that the matches exploded and ruined this moment because he couldn’t take its tempestuousness. Everything tingled.

                “I’m gonna get a drink,” he mumbled. “… can’t stand this shit.” It left Jack confused. He had no idea what he meant. Jack wanted a drink, too, but he rather distracted himself with work instead of alcohol.

                “You want one, too?” Jesse asked, praying for approval which didn’t come.

                “No,” Jack crossed his arms. “There is work to be done. Maybe later.”

He returned to their own, miniature sized command room and received the night guard’s judgement as he used the keycard. _It’s not like he is sleeping, either._ Jack scoffed, which got stuck in his mask. Once inside, he pulled it down and took off his jacket. It was not even midnight and Jack considered that early. Hanzo was there, too, arranging profiles on the screen as if he was about to play a card game. Jack watched him from behind. Hanzo swiped a profile to the side and Jack interlocked his hands on the small of his back, gaining the appearance of a skeptical tutor.

                “Can I help you with something?” Hanzo sounded sarcastic. “A new moniker, perhaps? How about Judgement:76?”

Jack ruffled his brow taken aback by the tone. “I prefer the title ‘sir’.” He joked dry since hated being called _sir_.

                Hanzo laughed. “Sure.” Then he sipped on a glass. It wasn’t tea. He took a step back and looked at his collection of faces. “All these people here on that wall, somehow responsible for anything happening in this city aren’t Mexican. Not one.”

                “Is that all you’ve found out?”

                Hanzo growled into his glass. Jack joined him and investigated the face. his hand rose, the fingers wiggled as if they greeted them before he adjusted the selection. A fair-haired man left the gathering. “Schingen.” He said monotone. “Dead.”

                They were trying to find the source of late attacks and the amount of possible suspects formed a chaos of identity. “Boulain and Trousseau? The same person.” Jack continued. He picked a last one and removed them, too. “Albert. Dead.”

                There were ten left.

                “And how did you acquire this knowledge if I may ask?” Hanzo needed more alcohol in order to survive the other one. Whenever he entered the room, Hanzo placed high expectations on himself. Leave an impression, make sure to not shrink in size next to a name as big as his. Something his father conditioned him into doing. Performing a personality in front of everyone.

                “Oh.” Jack wrinkled his nose while he kept looking at the screen. “My hand slipped. I like making good guesses. I used to be very good in poker, you know, until someone found out my tricks.”

                “I won’t judge you for telling me that you’ve killed them.”

                “It’s not like I would feel uncomfortable by sharing that, anyway.” Jack’s hand dropped. Hanzo nodded his chin and side-eyed him. His facial hair grew and he didn’t care to shave it off. He looked fuzzy around the edges. It suited him and the blue eyes hopped to Hanzo’s, who tried to feign being impressed with a twisted mouth.

                “Confident.” Hanzo stated dry while Jack moved to the platform in the middle. “Do you ever stumble?”

                “No, I glide.” Jack picked up a pile of folders and dropped them on the tabletop. The thud was loud and threatening. Hanzo wondered how the hell he kept this paperwork going instead of relying on tech. He guessed that Jack had his reasons.

                “Are you going to show me your family album? While I love antiques, I’m afraid we’re not that far into our cooperative partnership yet.”

                Jack handpicked a selection and tossed it to the other side. Hanzo watched his hands, then the document started flying across the tabletop, landing in front of him. “That is someone of your kind. Good sniper. A little too overconfident though, and pain in the ass.”

                Hanzo felt addressed. _You wish I were._ His hand reached out and one finger opened the file. “Do you know him personally? How did you meet? In a retirement home for aging heroes?”

                “I almost broke his neck but he ran off, now he is hiding. Trying to shoot me in back from a safe distance.”

                “Oh, what a bad man.” Hanzo browsed to the file and realized that this was the person he shot in the leg as he tried to run off that night at the museum. He wasn’t a good shot otherwise he wouldn’t have missed. “What an amateur. How dare you comparing me to him.”

                Jack snorted. Of course, he knew this man. He researched him as he always did with everyone. There were not many secrets he couldn’t unravel. The archer was the exiled king of a dynasty that slowly died and he knew it. He had the same attitude as royalty: chin up, eyes sharp, gleaming confidence. Aesthetically, he was way beyond magnificent. Hanzo was an intense personality and Jack liked tussling with that kind of person. He did like doing the same with Gabriel. Although Jack was surprised that Hanzo worked for these people here, a former murderer, assassin, now on a redemption path they were willing to offer. Not entirely without the influence of his brother, most likely. But who was he to judge him for his deeds as he wasn’t anything better than him?

                After reading through the file, he closed it. “So, what are you implying?” He asked Jack, “That we’re going after this one first?”

                “Taking out the pawns to make it to the royal couple. Yes. Beware of the queen.”

                “Did you derive this observation from your own experience?”

                Jack rested his forearms on the platform and placed his hands on each other. He looked at Hanzo through the lights and the green behind Hanzo reflected in Jack’s irises. A smug smile grew on Jack’s face. He looked as though he was going to pray. Hanzo looked at him, showing him his _cold shoulder._

“Hm,” He nursed the glass. “American countrymen. Whenever they are out of words, they look at you with the eyes of a preacher. I’m immune to holy water.”

                “Looks like you’re having holy water already,” he pointed at the drink in his hand, “so, it would be useless.”

                Hanzo looked at the glass while Jack pushed his arms off the table. The silence between them was strange. Tension and fire filled the room melting equipment and the walls shrunk in size. Their personalities were too much for a room of this size. “Do you want one?” Hanzo asked him. More so because he wanted to know if he could handle the drink.

                “No, thanks. I don’t drink anymore.” Jack replied with one hand on the table.

                “Why not?” Hanzo’s eyes narrowed. He cautiously set the glass on the tabletop and his index finger gave the glass a push, it hustled across the desk toward Jack.

                Jack watched the glass and rose it to his nose. The answer was quite clear. He liked to remain in control of anything and alcohol usually did the opposite. Jack became distrustful over the years and it took a lot for a stranger to make it through the maze of constructions he created. Jack took a small sip because he was curious and his face turned into a disgusted grimace.

                “It tastes like … I am not a wine type.”

                “Of course not: you’re a farmer.” Hanzo pursed his lips and crossed his arms. “Your lack of taste is intriguing.”

                “Well, at least there is something intriguing about me then.” Jack chortled and pushed the glass back. Hanzo made a dismissive noise.

                “Are you out of witty replies, mister Shimada? I didn’t expect that to happen since that you’re an intellectual.” Jack looked at his files and sorted them for easier usage. Hanzo moved and joined him on the other side of the table to gain more insight on the remaining files and their significance to him.

                “It is nothing like wine, by the bye.”

                “If you say so. I do lack the taste to distinguish the difference.”

                Jack opened one file, but closed it evenly as swift. Something was in there he wanted to hide, an uncomfortable reminder, impossible to behold. Hanzo’s hand slid between the folders and untangled the pages. A face showed. His posture became more casual than tense. Jack grunted irritated with a sulk on his lips. The former tension in the room lowered and the only thing remaining was frowst and a cold breeze trying to come true. Jack shivered and ripped the folder out of his hand. _That was a wee too personal._

Hanzo gave him a knowing look and returned to his former spot. Jack’s eyes stuck on him circling the table until he reached his destination. “If we both stay up long enough, we might get something done.”

                “I hope so.” Jack replied stone-cold sober.

                Hours passed, some in silence and some with casual conversation. At 3:31 am, Jack pulled a chair under him to sit on and he fell asleep. His head rested on his fist as usual, his repose did not last long. Mental activities woke him up and he blinked at the lights. Hanzo brew coffee and while he didn’t excel at the skill, and neither liked coffee, he sipped on it to test it taste. He thought that would be considered good enough and so he put it in front of Jack. He lifted one leg and leaned his hip on the edge of the table behind him. Jack looked at the coffee as though it was an explosive item. What was his ulterior motive?

                “Are you trying to poison me?” Jack asked.

                “No? What gave such an unkind impression?”

                Jack noticed the person behind him and he took a sip. “My apologies.”

                “Did you have any life-changing visions during your two and a half hours of beauty sleep?”

                Jack shook his head. Naps weren’t the best way to rest since they wore him out more than restoring energy. He then came to wake fully and remembered the conversations they had before he dozed off; they amused him. The ambiance in this room was a different one now. A slowly fading overture changing to a piano solo in b-minor. Nothing too harsh, yet there lingered a strangely touching note.

                “So, tell me: why, after all your resentment for these people, did you agree to work with them again?” Hanzo inquired. A genuine question aimed to explore a new face he came to like seeing. It didn’t happen often. Hanzo couldn’t keep up with this restrictive veil for too long, since he showed quite the interest in people. On the sly. From behind his book.

                “Why do you ask?”

                “As you said: we haven’t been properly introduced yet.”

                “And you do that by asking me personal questions?” Jack stirred the coffee.

                “Is it personal then?”

                “I know that it is one thing,” Jack rose to stand and turned around, “which is: none of your business.”

                Hanzo stood tall, as well. His eyes traveled from Jack’s left shoulder to his eyes and back again. “A proper co-operation requires knowledge, which again is needed to gain trust. That is all I am trying to accomplish.”

                “Very believable.” Jack didn’t want to dig too deep and wanted to let it go. Whatever it was the two of them had, it wouldn’t end well if h continued and he hated being dragged into disrespecting someone else purely for a show.

                “I was being genuine. A person like you coming back to a place that has nothing but bad memories. It must either be someone or something you want. No valor or redemption. You can find that on your own.”

                They stood a little too close for Jack’s taste since Hanzo’s fragrance was right below him and it was a fine one. He had a thing for a good scent. “It could be that I am here for someone, not something. That again is none of your business.”               

“So, mysterious.” His voice was dry and yet teasing. Their eyes meat for the fracture of a second and it felt longer than it truly lasted. A provoking feel stirred something up inside him and he re-evaluated the whole night within five seconds. _Why am I like this?_ He felt drunk, but wasn’t. His old self withered away beneath a layer of cold snow. The sun came out and it melted most of the cold, now, a bee landed on what remained and tried to fix his broken leaves. Or was it a bird picking on them?

                Hanzo’s hand snuck to Jack’s shoulder and removed dust. He took the mug out of his hand. Jack watched him during the whole thing and let his eyes climb up the arm to the archer’s face.

                “You should get some real sleep. A man of your age needs to rest well.” Hanzo’s voice was an orchestra featuring mockery and enjoyment. There was a move about, a twist, or sudden silence. The outcome lay in the dark.

                “Don’t make me older than I am.” Jack cringed. _That was my catch phrase, not yours_. “What about you?”

                Hanzo hid his mouth, twisted in a smirk, by quickly turning around. He knew that kind of question and while it could be meant as it was spoken, most of the time it was not. “I will be here. Flying the ship.”

                Jack blamed his lack of sleep and the overwhelming impressions of this place on his behavior. It didn’t occur to him that he felt lonely. He removed that from the list because he was used to independence and the solitude that came with it. Hanzo was right, and he should attempt to find some rest. Maybe that wasn’t so bad in the end.

* * *

_And sometimes, I think to myself: could I have become someone else? A person people admire with such fierceness that they would forgive anything you did? Who decided that your lies are perfectly fine? If you lie, you must accept that any other person may lie, as well. There is no such thing as an exception, and yet you make them for yourself. I made my own exceptions, and everyone accepted it. Rebellion isn’t always a loud mouth and doing things people forbade you. It is choosing the difference. Someone you wish to enrage knows a man they hate and one they hold in high regard. What do you do? Do you murder the one they admire and befriend the one they hate? I did it the other way around. I was faster than him killing the man he hated, and I bedded a man he called a friend. I disrupted a steady field of chess pieces sitting on the same spot for decades. At what cost?_

_For looks and for uncertainty. Obedience does not equal respect, and unraveling the tight strings of unconditional obedience does not equal losing the respect for it. You desire to cut loose and in all that cutting, you forget that you’re made of flesh and bone, and that the sharp blades might hurt you, as well. Your skin is thin, after all. You don’t want to and you can’t stay inside this trap, but cutting loose means ridding yourself of any privilege. I cut, and I still bleed. I wish I would have seen the world from a different set of eyes, to understand how insignificant my attempts were of trying to impress and yet trying to free myself from the need to astonish everyone. In the end, the bleeding continued. I am here, you are there, and we are still in silence. Forgiveness is a story that should be written with two hands, and both of mine are broken._


	8. The wolf and the lion hunt, the jackal licked his wounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack and Hanzo track down a possible target.  
> There is dinner, then things do escalate just a little bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a shorter chapter where I introduce some smut- I hope you have fun. I wanted to mention that I usually don't write too graphic sex scenes and am more on the sensual side, so don't expect wording that is explicitly direct.  
> (I though I mention that. So, if you brought towels: I mean it's warm outside you can use them for that.)
> 
> There is more coming *haha* and I try to also keep the plot going.
> 
> I also wanna thank those people who keep reading this. 
> 
> Content:  
> As aforementioned, sex. The first scene has some gore in it, but I tried to be vague about it.  
> There are some of my headcanons and I hope that Jack and Hanzo's banter isn't over the top in a way.

 

 

 

 

>  
> 
>  
> 
> “And sometimes I have kept my feelings to myself because I could find no language to describe them.”
> 
> Jane Austen

 

 

“This is not as fancy as I expected.” Hanzo remarked on the shady look of the housing they entered. It was dark, damp, and smelled like rats.

                “Why would you expect the hideout of a criminal to be fancy?” Jack walked on down the corridor. Moonlight filtered through the window by its end. The hallway turned to the right.

                “Because they think that they are deserving of posh surroundings.”

                “If you say so.” Jack lurked around the corner with a raised weapon. Hanzo followed him nonchalant, the bow in his hands down.

                “Heh,” Hanzo narrowed his eyes. “I must know.”

                Jack rose his hand; military custom. Hanzo found it admirable how he kept doing the things he has been doing for years no matter how hard he tried to rid himself of his former identity. He still was a soldier, his name implied that. Old habits die hard. A door obstructed their path. The scent of dead rats penetrated through the closed door, and Jack didn’t want to open it because he disliked rodents and dead ones challenged him more.

                “Are you scared?” Hanzo teased him.

                “I’m not very fond of mice, or rats for that matter.” There was nothing alive behind that door, as Hanzo found out, and all it took now was to open it and find out whatever caused that horrendous scent. A task Jack did not want to put on himself.

                “A few mice and you’re shivering like an elephant, as the cliché goes. Magnificent. I like elephants.” He walked over and pushed the door open. Jack looked at him as though he marveled at his courage but it was something else.

                “I’m a dog person myself.” Jack replied cocky.

                “Hm, I am not that well-versed in psychology to construe any deeper meaning from that.”

                “Not everything has to have a deeper meaning.”

                “You’re bland.” Hanzo said dry. He walked on and stepped into something soft. It squeezed underneath his foot and he pulled it back with a wrinkled face. Hanzo sniffed and declared disgust. It wasn’t exactly rats that lay here to rot. Jack followed and, after being thankful for wearing a mask, looked across Hanzo’s shoulder. He grabbed a flashlight and lit the spot. In nonverbal cooperation, Hanzo took the flashlight out of Jack’s reaching hand and let him do the dirty work. Jack crouched down and picked up the bloody, soft thing. An organ. A liver. Why would there be a random liver in here?

                “It’s been removed not so long ago.” Jack stated, putting it back down since he shouldn’t have picked it up in the first place. Hanzo shun the light higher and followed a bloody trail. Someone dragged a bleeding body ahead. Jack thought it to be a trap and rose back to his full size. They walked ahead and Jack awaited an ambush and walked slow.

                “You know if we die here,” Hanzo joked deadpan, not afraid of anything, “It was an honor meeting you.”

                Jack hated unnecessary talk especially in situations like this, which was reason enough to work alone in the past years. “Thank you.”

                “I expected a _likewise_ from you, _sir.”_

Jack tried to stay focused and saved a reply for later. The room wasn’t big and soon enough, they found a stairway leading to the final level of the building. Steps bemoaned their usage and the light turned brighter. It seemed there was a window upstairs, and Hanzo turned off the flashlight for the moment. Once upstairs, silence exchanged footsteps and light unveiled a room with high walls, a few paintings, and few furniture pieces. A chair, once fancy, and a table with a vase on it. It wasn’t the furniture that upset Jack, or the destroyed paintings, but a heap of flesh and blood in the middle of the room. A corpse on a heap of dead rodents. He grunted disgusted.

                Did he want to approach it? Did he have a choice? Jack reluctantly did so and neared the dead body to make an indication of the identity and cause of death. The liver, removed to lure the rats, lead them over here where they died surrounding a corpse. Hanzo didn’t know if he found it terrifying or fascinating to create such effort to kill someone.

                “Quite the artist, the murderer. A little questionable repertoire however.” He said.

                “I guess we were just too late, because this is the man we were looking for.” Jack said, staring at two dead, wide eyes. Gabriel told him once to not look the death into the eyes because they will haunt you. Was that the reason for his troublesome sleep routine?

                “And I guess we know how he died.” Hanzo felt sudden compassion. “What a way to die.”

                Jack closed the corpse’s lids because he couldn’t stand the eyes staring at him. he searched the corpse for more evidence and found a single, red flower in his left hand. He was meant to be found like that… by him. He exhaled and turned around swift. “I could use a drink now.”

 

               

                After the common procedures and a full task force investigating the building, they vanished in a dive and Jack ordered whiskey. It tasted horrid, but nobody cared about his face in here. Hanzo judged the dirty glass and ordered safe food. Nobody gave a damn about the man with a bow and another man with a furious expression on his face. Jack was red and drank the whiskey too quick. Something bothered him for a while, or someone. A person played a little cat-and-mouse game with him and he had no clue on their identity. He had already arrived at a familiar scene some time ago.

                “Is it the rats?” Hanzo asked.

                “No.” Jack replied dry and kept staring alongside Hanzo, who felt rather nervous under the stare even though it wasn’t directed at him.

                “Then tell me, your majesty, what is ‘t that unsettles thee?”

                Jack gave him a look. It made Hanzo chuckle. After a while, Jack looked down at the table and picked on the wood. “I get the slight idea that someone out there is playing a game. It is not the first time I found the dead body of someone I pursued.”

                “Maybe they have had several fans and you were too slow.”

                “I am never too slow.”

                Hanzo cocked a brow and chewed on a potato wedge. Jack’s eyes rose, he looked at the plate, the single wedge in his hand, and then at the glance. “Say it,” he sighed overloaded. “There is an insult coming, or at least a mocking remark.”

                Hanzo shrugged one shoulder and kept chewing. He looked at the menu and traced the words with his eyes. “There is a plate with corn, they named it El Gringo.” Hanzo cackled. He was genuinely amused by that. “You should order that, Mr Morrison, it is screaming your name. Maybe they created this to honor you?”

                Jack poured himself a glass in silence.

                Hanzo continued because he was bored and wanted Jack to join in, but he assumed that the day wore him out. “It is sweet corn, though, and you’re on the bitter side.”

                “Oh,” Jack put the bottle down and looked at the disgusting whiskey in his glass. “I can be pretty sweet, you know, but only on special days.”

                “These special days were over twenty years ago?”

                “Twenty-four.”

                “Huh!” Hanzo folded the menu and returned it to its stand. Then he became a little bit more serious and poked his plate with a lazy finger. He wasn’t hungry. He shoved it across the table and offered it to Jack. “You must eat before drinking this kind of crap. Who knows: maybe you will pass out and I will have to drag all the way back. What a picture that would be.”

                Jack beheld the plate and considered eating some of the baked potatoes, but his stomach didn’t do well and he even put the whiskey away. When he first came to join the armed forces, he decided to dedicate himself to the medical staff. Nurses were wanted. In the end, after all that blood and other’s pain, he was glad to have joined Overwatch. Sometimes, he couldn’t stand too much gore. He was lost in thought and passively inhaled cigarette smoke. He missed smoking, just not the smell.

                The noise in this establishment felt good and he wanted to drown in it. Become one with the crowd. Today, he wanted to avoid silence. He wanted to avoid solitary thinking.

                Comfort was a good idea. Where would he find that? He grumbled and moved up. “I need to take a walk.” _Walk it off._

                “Do you desire an escort? Someone to shoot unwanted audiences?” Hanzo shoved one wedge in his mouth and chewed uninspired.

                Jack shrugged. “Sure.” He left money under his bottle and left through the backdoor next to the restrooms. A cat nursed a meal prepared for the strays and Jack found that this restaurant wasn’t so bad after all. Those places had something charming about them. This area was rural, people here knew each other and yet they didn’t. They respected personal space while crowds gathered close to another. Hanzo walked beside him and Jack found that company soothing since he did not talk much, and his charming silence became stronger as he pulled out a book and his reading glasses. Jack fumbled with his visor and he wanted to keep it off for a while, to feel the breeze on his skin, to avoid the itch it caused sometimes.

                “What are you reading?” He ruined the silence himself.

                “A book.”

                “I can see that, vaguely, with my _old ass eyes_.”

                “It’s a book about pirates chasing a treasure. Nothing too special except for the characters, who are the most entertaining part of the story.” He stopped walking next to a wall with graffiti on it. Jack paused in his walk, too, and stared at the art for a while. Hanzo was ready to recite a passage from the book, but instead, he investigated the mindful expression on the other one. “You remind me on the character in this book who isn’t really there, because he died long ago because he drank too much.”

                Jack looked at him. “That never occurred to me.”

                “No, you didn’t die because of substance abuse. At least I don’t hope so.”

                “Yes,” Jack shifted from left foot to right foot and tilted his head. “I blew up the base in Switzerland with a brew gone wrong. Now that would have been a great headline.”

                “You’re a peculiar man.” Hanzo stated.

                “I know. For years, I have had a partner who was ten times wittier than you and a lot more direct. I can handle anything.”

                “Why do you bring this up?”

                “So that you may continue with your insults, because I have gone through worse.”

                “I wasn’t insulting you this time.” Hanzo closed the book. “It was a sincere observation.”

                Jack nodded his head and remained unimpressed. He liked the game they had going on. Somewhere between rivalry and blooming friendship, and Jack wondered if there was something else behind all these words. Like thick paint, covering the dissatisfying artwork one created. Another layer, and another, until it would gain the appearance the painter wanted. Beneath all that lay a portrait with a sad face looking at the sky, longing for something other than any luminary up there. Perhaps they were both lonely. A little tired of endless journeys and attempts of being a better person, and somewhere, someone brought them together. Like stitching a plaid with two different fabrics. It didn’t matter, because it would remain whole, and the creator admired the work. The fabric fitted.

                “Are you in need of a pep talk?” Hanzo said.

                “No.” Jack replied. He forced himself into the visor and walked on. “Let’s head back.”

 

 

 

In the room, Jesse sat and ate bakery goods. His mouth was full and upon entering, his eyes met Jack’s. He looked upset. Jack didn’t know why. Because he let him sleep and didn’t inform him on their excursion? Hanzo entered, as well, and he passed Jack’s back. Jesse’s glare, through his lashes, rested on him for a moment. Then he looked down at his sweets.

                “You seem to be in a good mood.” Jack took off his mask.

                “Yeah. Did you find anything out there except for a corpse?”

                Jack crossed his arms and his lips twitched in a wee smile. He wondered whatever it was that irritated Jesse to such extend. Jesse’s brown eyes raised off the box and the glare intensified. “What? Am I not allowed to eat in here?”

                Jack didn’t follow and just frowned confused. “The protocol says no, if I remember correctly—“

He wanted to continue and light-hearted humor, but Jesse tossed the food in its box and dropped it on a table. He pushed off the wall he leant against. “Well, fuck, I’m sorry.” He rolled his eyes and left.

                “Do we need to find out what troubles Don Quixote?”

                “No,” Jack gestured. “Just let him.”

                “How do you know this is a good idea?”

                “I know him. Sometimes, anger is inevitable.” Jack thought about his own statement. _I know him._ He sounded like Reyes. He didn’t know him that well. Jack knew the moments when Jesse wasn’t feeling well. He knew the moments in which he required a little uplifting distraction, or the moments when he wanted to be alone. This felt like neither of those.

                “I trust your judgement on that.” Hanzo was tired. He wanted to sleep but there was no way of sleeping yet. So, he made tea and watched the water boil inside the can. “For how long do you know each other?”

                Jack never thought about that. “Some twenty years. A little less.”

                “That is a long time,” Hanzo said while pouring tea in his mug. “has it never occurred to you that he, perhaps, cares a lot about you?”

                Licking his lips, Jack rubbed his earlobe. “Maybe.”

                Hanzo chuckled amused. “ _Maybe._ You know, it is a rather obvious thing to notice.”

                “As you are very observant, I congratulate you on your latest discovery.”

                Jack snuck a glance at Hanzo, who dipped his teabag into the hot water while serving a persistent smug smile. “Thank you for this flattery.”

                “I aim not to flatter.”

                “No?” The smile remained on his lips even as he drank. The hot water burned the tip of his tongue. He rolled it against the inside of his cheek.

                Jack responded with a similar expression on his face and wondered what the archer wanted from him? A confession? A secret? Something he could hold dear as a sign of truce? “Someone has to write a mission report. It won’t be me.”

                Hanzo downed the mug. “Are you serious?”

                “You are the worded one. Go ahead and do your thing while I take a nap.”

                “They say that with age comes wisdom, but neither counts for you since you lack wit and aren’t coming.”

                Jack opened his mouth, inhaled, and wagged his finger. “I’ll remember that.”

                “Are you sure?”

                “Just like an elephant, I remember everything.” Jack prepared himself to leave. Staying in this room wouldn’t be good for his composure. Hanzo remained, celebrating a victory and mourning a loss at the same time.

 

               

 

 _Coming back was a big mistake._ He thought, looking at the stuff spread before him. His mask, resting there beneath the light, laughing at him and his short-lived vigilante-life. It was great while it lasted, everyone who looked for him in the past years and the included hunt kept him sportive. He tried to find out why it all had to make sense. Why was he so angry?

                Every littlest sound was loud noise, and he longed for company. He felt very lonely. Being true to himself about that, he put the screwdriver down and wondered where he could go. How does one summon a conversational partner? He never learned that. His fingers hovered across the pad and he tapped the screen once. _Coffee?_ Jack wrote but he didn’t send it yet because there was doubt and hesitation. A minute later, he hit _send_ and it was too late. He hoped to be ignored, but the addressed was typing. “I didn’t think you knew how to use that.”

                Jack snorted. He shook his head and left the pad abandoned, focusing on something else instead with squinted eyes and a frown on his bleak face. He wanted rest, mutual silence, and a house somewhere in a forest with no-one else except for a dog. What kind of dog would he adopt? A Labrador since that would be such a cliché. A door opened; nobody would enter this room without having a passcode. There was one person who knew it, aside from Liliana, of course.

                Ceramic touched the metallic tabletop, sliding across the surface, and something warm to his right. An arm in front of him. Jack moved up and smiled poignant at the coffee. “Thanks.”

                When was the last time he felt relaxed? Never. He found the face up there and Jesse’s irritation departed a while ago. His facial muscles weren’t as tense, his jaw was relaxed. “I’m sorry about that.” He whispered.

                “Don’t worry.” Jack replied.

                “Are you okay?” Jesse asked and Jack nodded, wincing because Jesse stood too close. What was too close? There was genuine interest in Jesse’s eyes as he looked at Jack. He did worry about him, and he often felt bad for not being uplifting enough. As if there was a responsibility to keep Jack Morrison happy. He wanted that, though. Jesse remembered how Jack was the only one who never treated him like a child. He spoke to him in a way that told him he was taken serious, respected his problems, even if he was harsh sometimes. The occasional _kid_ sounded so sarcastic, he liked it. It occurred to Jesse that he never fully appreciated that. Everyone saw a child in him, grown physically though. An infant in a man’s body. Jesse gave in and let it slide many a times, but he’s gotten tired of it recently and wanted to rid himself of that. Maybe that was why he liked Jack too much. _Too much,_ he repeated.

                “No coffee for you?” Jack inquired as he sipped on his.

                “No.”

                Jack swallowed and turned his head to the side to have a good look at his face: he appeared to be preoccupied. “What’s the matter?”

                “I have no idea.” Jesse replied dry after a short silence, enough to gather his thoughts. Then he continued. “Are you happy…” Another pause until he ended the question, “Jack?” He never really used his name like that. It was strangely intimate. Two blue eyes glanced at him. A tiny smirk moved the left corner of his mouth.

                “I used to be.” Jack said quiet; not hushed enough to be a whisper, though. “I do not know what or who I am these days anymore. Some absurd antihero with a leather jacket? The old hero come back to restore a once famous group of people to save the world?”

                “A new start is always good.”

                “Hm,” Jack’s index finger trailed the brim of his mug. “It seems useless.”

                “Why? Everything that happened was a good-enough start if you ask me. Now, what you need is…” Jesse thought about it. Vacation?

                “Yes?”

                “A day in a spa.”

                Jack chuckled and rose the mug.

                “We’re going to have a lot of things to do, though,” Jesse’s voice changed tone to something more serious. “so, you are going to need a little rest.”

                Jack shrugged; he found Jesse’s behavior peculiar. “Are you drunk?”

                “No!” Jesse frowned. “I just… Listen, I just worry about you, sometimes. With your old man attitude.”

                “Oh?” Jack’s brows rose and nodded. “My old man attitude?”

                Jesse laughed and his eyes got lost in the mess before him. He calmed down and rested his hand on the table, too. “No, I’m serious. Even though it might not seem like that a lot of times, but I’m actually glad that we met again.”

                Jack rose his mug in a toast. His shoulder nudged Jesse’s. Then he returned to his tinkering. “How about you? Are you happy?”

                Jesse opened his mouth and looked at Jack, who was bend forward on the table. “That’s a loaded question.”

                “It’s a simple question.”

                “No, it isn’t a _simple_ question.” Something about the tone in his voice made Jesse uncomfortable. Jesse grabbed the empty mug and wanted to leave, but Jack reached out and kept him from doing so by holding his arm. It wasn’t rough; it was a tender, demanding grip. Jesse stopped and looked at the hand, then up at the face which seemed alarmed. “I didn’t mean to sound rude,” Jack explained and let go.

                Jesse nodded. There was silence and it was awkward for the first time. Jack looked distracted enough by the number of tools and items scattered on the tabletop that he didn’t notice Jesse’s look, somewhere between inquiring and confused. The question repeated itself inside his head like a broken tape. Did he feel happiness?

“Want more coffee?” He rose the mug enough to gain Jack’s attention. He stretched again and narrowed his lips. The truth was: Jack stared at the tools because it would lead his mind onto a different path and not into this strange alley he’s been crawling into lately. Dimly lit, confusing, some steam. Everything right out of a mystery novel, and this truly was how he felt. They exchanged one of these mesmerizing looks. Jesse couldn’t let go off that anymore.

                Jack smiled defeated and sat straight while Jesse leant bluntly against the tabletop, with the cup in one hand, a smug glint lit his eyes. He often longed for someone he could lean on, like back in the days when he had Gabriel. He leant on him so many times, he forgot to offer him support. Jack made a face and stared into the lamp, let the light hurt his eyes and the pain was the right punishment for his egoism. A hand touched his face, it was offering the comfort he needed, but never asked for. He rose his one and took the hand, putting it back down.

                “I think you should go… this might be a bad idea.”  Jack whispered. There was a great deal of gratitude for Jesse’s existence and his presence. He hadn’t felt as comfortable around someone, a man in particular, as with him lately. Jack could say that somehow, Jesse being here delighted him. His mind frolicked whenever he smiled. He hated these feelings because he wanted to avoid them.

                “What would be a bad idea?” Jesse’s trick question arrived. It struck Jack and he opened his mouth to expel nothing but a huff. The tension was unbearable. Jesse didn’t ask as he grabbed his shirt and pulled him into a kiss. This move was the opposite of the former one: gentle and careful. And while at first, there was minor hesitation, it did not take long before that kiss received an answer. It was a while for Jack, who personally did not do that lot. He hated rushed experiences. Jesse tried to silently make room on the table by shoving everything aside, but a falling pencil startled Jack and he shot up to stand tall. The pencil rolled on the floor.

                Jesse’s cheeks were as hot as his ears and he licked his lips to savor the remains of his taste.

                He nodded.

                “I’m sorry,” Jack said. “This is not really… the right place.” _Or time._ He thought about a few things. He never understood why people were so eager to rush anything at all. It was different for him.

                “As you wish,” Jesse whispered. He wasn’t hurt, a little embarrassed though. He didn’t want to make him uncomfortable. He stood, too, and pointed at the empty cup. “Do you want some more?”

                Jack followed the hand and cleared his throat – it was hot and dry. “No, no.”

                He cleaned up the desk and pulled out a report. “I should get going.”

               

 

Jesse lay on his bed exhausted and sleepless. He rolled to the side and peeked across the edge where he spread reports, prints of photographs, and a letter. His hand reached out to adjust their positions and he rubbed his forehead. Eyes hopped from one item to the other as his brain worked on connections. A door opened and then there was silence again. Jesse rose slightly to gaze across his shoulder; he found Jack with crossed arms leaning in the doorframe of his humble accommodation. After a short once-over, Jesse looked back down. “Can I help you with something?”

                Jack untangled his arms. “May I?”

                _Talking at 2 in the morning?_ Jesse ruffled his brow and shrugged one shoulder. “Sure. Let’s have an insomnia gathering.”

                Jack chuckled and Jesse felt his weight on the mattress. He rested on his back. “Do you still have the same sleeping problems as years ago?”

                “Old habits die hard?”

                “Hm,” Jack agreed. “I thought about your vacation proposal and must admit that it isn’t such a bad idea. Maybe I should go to Greece, since I like the climate.” He chuckled.

                Jesse found that funny and snickered. “Yeah, you totally should go there for the climate which you admire. I bet it isn’t something else.”

                “Don’t get sassy on me, mister McCree. I don’t like that.”

                Jesse’s brow twitched. This sounded so flirty, he hated it. He inhaled and pulled his hand back on the bed. “We make a good team. Both sleepless, done with everything, and ready to go on a vacation just to regret having free time because so much could be done in those days.”

                “Do you ever rest, at least?”

                “How am I supposed to that with everything that is happening. I wish that I could. Hell, I should open a bar.”

                He wanted to turn around or scoot closer, because the warmth was too far away and he longed for comfort. The wall between them asked for wreckage, but how could he do that? He folded one arm beneath his head and kept tracing the objects on the floor. Jesse was tired and wanted to sleep, but even here, with this company who excelled in saving his ass several times, he didn’t feel at ease. It was something else if he passed out, which he did not allow to happen, either. He felt tense, overloaded, and these two stress factors caused a fretful, tenacious mood. Jesse didn’t want to release any of that in company, but he did a lot when he was alone. He closed his burning eyes and scratched the back of his neck as distraction. No matter how well he hid it, it seemed that Jack noticed it and moved his arm to gently caress his head. His fingers dug through his hair and Jesse sighed because the sensation was soothing. “Thanks for making me feel like a dog.” He said weak.

                 “You’re so tensed up. I fear that, if I touch you somewhere else, I might electrocute myself.” The hand dropped and the arm lay stretched out on the pillow above him. Was that invitation to just roll into the open spot? It felt promising. He inched closer and the arm moved around his shoulders. _Don’t fall asleep,_ an intrusive voice inside his head reminded him and he wanted it to shut up. Jack’s other hand sloppily massaged his shoulder, as if that helped. He needed to get used to that until he relaxed. Jesse began to drift off and thought about many things at once. Some of the recent events forced themselves onto his mind while he remembered several of the nice places he visited in the past. Which one did he like the most? Oasis was beautiful; he remembered the fancy spots where he considered himself unfitting. The food was good there.

                _That is great._ He thought as he fell asleep. His mind took him to the first time he met Ana and her daughter. Fareeha was showing off her gear, something she worked on herself. The girl was proud and someone made an astounded noise. It was Jack telling her that he admired her skill. Fareeha laughed and he nodded. He was always so proud of anything she did. Her mother was, too, but there was a different problem between them: a mother trying to protect her child, a child not seeing the right thing and holding it against her mother. Jesse felt this tension as soon as Fareeha was old enough to join Overwatch, but her mother forbade it. It was fear, not authority, which drove her to this deed.

                A mother shouldn’t bury her daughter. And that was what haunted Ana every day.

                It was the exact same fear Jesse carried with him since he started to care for Gabriel both as a parental figure as well as a friend, and lastly, as a partner _in crime_. That fear of losing him harbored inside his chest, it still did, and he rejected reality for a long time. He woke up again after a little more than an hour due to that and moved on his back. He already forgot that Jack was there and found himself close to his head and chest as he did. The head rested on his shoulder now and the arm on his stomach. What would Gabriel think of that? Jesse wondered about that. What if he was still alive, would he and Jack still be a thing? They were inseparable back in the days, as though they were an old, happily married couple. Two elders hitting each other with soft objects and telling the other that their feet smelled. Jesse snorted. He used to be very jealous of Gabriel, but never said that aloud and shamed himself for those thoughts.

                Now, he was here, and Jack was breathing into his ear. He snored too, but not loud at all. He seemed to dream about something exciting or otherwise intense, since he made displeased noises. Jack frowned in his sleep and grabbed the fabric of Jesse’s shirt. Jesse put his hand on his and patted it.             

                “We’re two old, grumpy fuckers.” He whispered. _I am not that old,_ he thought, _I just feel ancient._

                A couple of minutes later, Jack woke up, too, and he rubbed his eyes with the hand which clung to his shirt before. “What time is it?” He asked as if he had overslept. Jesse cared to find out. “Four thirty-six.”

                “Oh,” Jack blinked.

                Jesse replied with a cocky expression and focused on the window, showing a foggy morning. The tension returned, but it was a different kind of tension and he crossed his legs to hide that certain kind. It hurt a little to which he replied with a wince. _Well, that is awkward. Please don’t open your eyes or move, I don’t want to embarrass myself._

Jack himself resided in a state between sleep and waking up entirely. He rolled on his stomach, then back on his side; his arm traveled from on Jesse’s chest, to across his face, then decided to fold up under his own chest as he rolled over again and landed halfway across Jesse. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but odd.

                “Jack,” Jesse poked his shoulder. Instead of waking him up, Jack spread his leg across his loins, then folded it, too. The pain increased and Jesse wanted to throw him off, but that was rude. It wasn’t his fault anyway. This moment taught Jesse that Jack was a mobile sleeper. He seemed to be the type to shove any company off the bed and claim the entirety of the mattress for himself. Right now, Jesse was nothing more but a hard pillow. _Hard._

                Jesse tried again. “Jack!” The addressed woke on the instant, as if that was his wake-up button. His head shot up and he looked at Jesse with his _annoying blue eyes._ “Huh?”

                Jesse cleared his throat. Jack looked about. “Oh, I’m sorry.” A trace of sarcasm painted this apology and the sun, coming through the fog, willing to wake everyone else, painted his frame with red. It wrinkled Jesse’s face because it shone right onto him and lit his eyes. His stomach twirled, pins and pricks made him shiver.

                “I mean,” he said. “This is comfortable but I don’t know if you… think, you know… if this is comfortable.” He stuttered and growled at himself for it.

                Jack puckered his lips and nodded. “It’s like wrestling. Just a little less violent.”

                Surely, he noticed the _issue_ right below him and Jesse’s ears turned red, unseen though since the sun dyed everything in bright gold. The look on his face was so overly amused and lighthearted that Jesse rejoiced. Why did he feel that way? An unexpected kiss settled the question.

                “Is this the right place then?” Jesse whispered against his lips when he spread his legs wide enough that Jack dropped between them. Now everything should be pretty much obvious. “I’m okay with that…” He added nonchalant.

                “Can you ever not be a smart ass?”

                “No.”

                Something on Jack buzzed while he sneakily moved on his haunches in the middle of another kiss, and Jesse searched for it. It was a small device reminding him on daily tasks. Jesse removed it and tossed it across the room. Jack moved out of the kiss, but his lips still hovered over Jesse’s. “That is expensive.”

                “I can get you a new one.” It buzzed again. “Though… is it from Finland because it seems indestructible?”

                The kiss moved to his neck. “Okay!” Jesse exclaimed. “It isn’t from Finland? Germany?” He groaned and hated his pants because they suddenly seemed way too tight. Then he had to laugh because of the kisses on his neck. They were warm, careful kisses and no sloppy, wet ones. He liked that, but they tickled even more that way. Jack stopped since he wasn’t sure if he appreciated it, and moved back up to his face where he rested a while. There was no need to hurry in his opinion, he could do that for a long time without needing anything. He preferred to make the other party included squirm anyway. Jesse placed his hand on Jack’s back and the cold metal stung through the cotton. It left a cold mark on his skin and his hairs raised. He felt Jesse wriggle beneath him and the bulge pressed against his thigh. It demanded something and he thought that he should be more patient, but not everyone possessed his kind of patience.

                The only time he has been intimate with someone else on this level was with Gabriel, because there was an intense connection, and that connection gave him so much interest on sharing something else that he began to act on it. Right now, he was a little lost as to what his partner preferred. Perhaps taking away the utter amount of stress was in order? Jesse’s arm scooped off his back as he sat between his legs, and Jesse didn’t feel like opening his eyes. Things were too serene to ruin it with daylight. He exhaled relieved as the pants disappeared. _Room._

                One hand’s fingers walked up his thighs, crawling toward his stomach and two eyes admired the slowly relaxing body. Jesse crossed his legs by their ankles and shuffled on Jack’s lap. The device buzzed again in the distance.

                “Who the hell is that?” He said with a croaky voice. The answer showed him that there were lips on his stomach. He twitched with the sensation.

                “Do you want me to find out now, I mean…” Jack moved up. “I am thrilled, too.”

                “No…” Jesse opened one lazy eye and his mouth crooked. The sun was so damn bright. The hands came back and teased his thighs. He both hated and liked it. After a while, he felt like rubber and sunk deep into his pillow. Jesse didn’t know where best to put his hands. He could touch him, too, but to be honest: he liked being treated that way. It was an endless play and didn’t he want to interrupt. He let out a sigh as he noticed what an impact these caresses and occasional kisses had when there was a little leak in his shorts. The sudden surge forced one arm up and he forcefully pulled Jack down. His face rested against his cheek. “Could you take that off?” He asked, picking on Jack’s shirt. Jack took the hand and held it in his, loosely, with a playful, short squeeze.

                “No.” He chuckled mischievous.

                Jesse grunted. “What if I say please? I’ll make pancakes.”

                “You can’t cook!”

                “I can’t do anything at all if I die!” Jesse protested dramatically. He felt like imploding. Jack moved back down to kiss his lips. Jesse looked at him. He mumbled against the kiss and locked Jack in this position with his legs. “You want to wrestle, yeah?” Jesse teased him and held his face in right up. The passion was minimal, as though restriction caught Jack and he didn’t dare doing anything over the top. As if he was scared to ruin an intimate moment with rude behavior.

                “I can win this!” Jack replied and nibbled on the skin of his neck.

                “I’m going to piss in your coffee.”

Jack laughed against his skin. Jesse squirmed and tried to free himself out of his own lock up. He calmed down when the laugh faded and a hand hastened with less restriction to pull the shorts down. Jesse appreciated the fresh air down there and then he gasped as the lips moved from his mouth to the south in a steady pace. He lifted his hips and Jack’s shoulders bid support, where Jesse rested his thighs subconsciously. The mouth found a destination and Jesse uttered some incoherent stammering.

Not that the play down there was any kind of helping him release, it just furthered the excitement and made it even more unbearable. In all that relentless teasing, he felt some bliss because this wasn’t like anything he experienced before. It was so gentle that he lost his mind. He didn’t even bother moving his hips to help himself, to increase the speed and add a dance of his own, but just let it happen. Jacks hands both moved to the small of his back and showed him to raise for the caresses to continue. The hands held him in place and he arched his back as he shuddered in a sensation rolling through his body. Aching replaced the longing and Jesse’s hands navigated through short hair, pushing the head deeper down and aiming to help himself with careful thrust. Jack took both hands and moved them behind his back, where they remained and the slow dance continued until Jesse started complaining.

Jesse wanted to speak up and ask him to finish what he started, but no words came out of his mouth, only short growls and an occasional phrase which took the Lord in vain.

All the noise came to a premature stop when the mouth paused. Jesse’s hand looked for something to hold and grabbed the bedlinen, then one of the two arms cradling him. His moans increased, the once relaxed position was a hot mess. Teeth grazed the skin of his left inner thigh and tensed up. After a while, as he came close to release, Jack moved up and kissed his face. One hand held onto its side, and its thumb traced his lips. Jesse didn’t need more to reach the end. His hand swiftly clung to Jack’s side when he came louder than he wanted.

                A couple of minutes passed until he finally caught his breath. He didn’t let go off Jack, who kissed his face and his lips traced the skin up to his ear. “And this is how the west was won.” Jack said deadpan, repeating what Jesse said in several moments of victory. There was an odd sentiment in that though. It used to make Jack cringe.

                It was forty minutes later since it started, and his entire body was one sweaty mess. Jack slowly moved up to find something he could use to clean him up with, which Jesse found strangely endearing. Careful touches on his stomach caused a stir inside him. Instead of being worn out by the experience, he was wide awake. At the same time, he wondered if Jack didn’t long for something in return but he didn’t look like he wanted to. Jesse glanced at him, there between his legs, adjusting Jesse’s pants. Their eyes met in a captivating exchange of mutual interest in what to do now. Jesse didn’t want to attempt another round of sleep. He was in the mood for something else, but it apparently wasn’t what Jack wanted, so he disregarded the wish.

                Those blue eyes unsettled him—in a good way. He sat up and placed a gentle kiss on Jack’s cheek. Jesse felt the excitement return and he hated that. “You don’t want… that?” Jesse asked quiet and Jack turned his head to look at him. He thought about a fitting reply. “I don’t know.”

                “Hm,” Jesse removed his lips. “Then I guess I will make coffee.”

                “No pancakes?”

                Jesse smirked. “Nah, maybe next time.”

                He was in a light mood, and groaned under another kiss which meant to end the moment. “Oh god.” He uttered and continued. “Don’t do that…” Jack pulled back immediately with a question forming on his mind and it showed on face. Jesse gestured with one hand. “Oh, I was… just saying. Do continue.”

                “I thought you wanted breakfast?” Jack looked confused.

                Jesse moved to lie down comfortably. He could just stare at Jack for hours. Sitting there, with the sun on his back, turning his hair into the same golden hue it had once, back then, when he made him blush nervously.

                “I didn’t specifically say what I mean by that.”

“What do you like?” Jack asked and that question came to Jesse’s surprise. Nobody bothered to find out before, and certainly not verbally. He didn’t know what he wanted or even what he liked. There hasn’t been enough time with the same person to find out, and new lovers weren’t exactly interested in an in-depth lecture.

                Jesse crossed his arms and pointed at Jack’s chest. “I’d like you to take off that shirt.”

                Jack shrugged and did so. He disliked what most his body looked like nowadays. “As you wish.” He held it up. “You want to smell on it, too?”

The cockiness was back and he tossed it into Jesse’s face, who chortled. Jesse knew what he wanted, but coyness took over and he placed the shirt on the ground. It covered the reports. Jack had freckles on his shoulders and chest, it was quiet an admirable sight. There was some insecurity buried in his jokes. Burn marks trailed down like a landmark telling a story. Past wounds, former deep cuts, bullet entries and exits. Jesse sat back up and a touch on the scarred shoulder stirred Jack and he closed his eyes. His forehead met Jesse’s cheekbone.

                “I always wondered: are the boy scouts as ridiculous as they say?” Jesse spoke.

                “Why do you ask me that?”

                Jesse chortled. “Oh, well…”

                “I have never been part of the boy scouts. The biggest group I have joined before the military was a gathering of ornithologists.” His nose poked his cheek. The moving lips left burn marks on his skin.

                “Why did you do that?”

                “I like birds.”

                Jesse laughed and let his hand drop between his legs, fumbling with a restricting belt. “All birds or certain kind of bird? I can see you becoming friends with a falcon. It is fitting.”

                He made his way on and found what he was looking for; Jack didn’t mind although he tensed up at the unexpected touch. Jesse’s expression portrayed the one of a man who just found a mighty treasure. He peaked down. “You’re mocking me.”

                “Ah, just a little bit.” Jesse whispered now. Kisses became a little wetter and the hand on his back rushed down to grab his backside. A squeeze affirmed him to continue and he did. Warmth grazed the skin on his neck as Jack spoke in a low voice, which wasn’t soft enough to be a whisper.

                “I always liked vultures for no good reason. They are huge, scary, and a lot of people don’t like them.”

                Jesse nodded. “A connoisseur of the things who aren’t traditionally attractive. This is very deep.”

                Jack opened his eyes and looked directly into his, as though Jesse just insulted something he admired. Quite the confrontational look to Jesse, but it did not mean to dispraise him. He grabbed the arm of the hand massaging him and the fingers dug into the muscles, another kiss and squeeze to intensify the movement. It has been so long that he forgot how it felt to be intimate with someone. How skin tasted, how someone else’s sweat felt, what hair smelled like.

                His hand trailed up the arm and he buried his face in Jesse’s hair because it asked for it; his moans got lost in the sea of tousled brown and he secretly wanted to feel more than a damp hand lifting his spirits. Was that a sign of devotion since he wasn’t one to give in to casual flings? Would it be an obstacle? Before he could deeply consider that, he set off and most of the stress and tension from the past days vanished into thin air. Expelled, gone for a while and not mourned. His lips halted on Jesse’s and the only thing he could do was breathing and trying to comprehend everything he did. Jesse’s hand held his face, he placed one hard kiss on his lips, and moved off the lap. Jack blinked and followed him with his eyes in silence.

                “Time for some coffee.” Jesse said dry, standing there unabashed and Jack winced. _He really had a nice butt._

 

* * *

 

>   _“I no longer believed in the idea of soul mates, or love at first sight. But I was beginning to believe that a very few times in your life, if you were lucky, you might meet someone who was exactly right for you. Not because he was perfect, or because you were, but because your combined flaws were arranged in a way that allowed two separate beings to hinge together.”_
> 
> _\- Lisa Kleypas_


	9. Jackal and Lion settled, the Wolf approached in silence.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack and Hanzo bond, things escalate during monopoly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What a great summary, I hope you enjoy the threesome.
> 
> That is all about this chapter, really. It's a light one since I'm past midway and I just wanted to write something lighter. Again: my sex scenes aren't too graphic, but still enjoyable (I hope).

 

>        “I want to travel where live travels
> 
>         Following its permanent lead
> 
>         Where the air tastes like snow music
> 
>         Where grass smells like fresh-born Eden
> 
>         I would pass no man, no stranger, no tragedy or rapture.”
> 
>  
> 
>         Toumas Holopainen

_I knew someone once who told me that there is peace in simplicity, and I never understood what she meant. Not until today. “Sometimes,” she said, “We have met unbearable odds. Or as they seem unbearable when we made decisions with which we must live. Although our hand held the pen that wrote the word, who put hat word into our minds?”_

_A simple word can change someone’s world. One word can be the one pillar holding everything together, and so can be one deed. In strive with acknowledgement, you pursue goals laid upon your shoulders which make you shiver in a harrowing fever. You don’t see, don’t hear, and don’t feel. As a child, I sighed for a better world. I competed against my own blood to show that I can do as they did. I could have joined the illuminating world, rose high enough and looked down at everything I ever held dear. It were simple things I adored. None of which anyone felt compassion for, and that child I have been came away. It came to rot and I listened to the words of an old man with grudges instead. “You must relieve yourself from your burdens and become a man of my kind,” he said. I never wanted to become a man like him. Not because I considered myself unfit, although he believed so, but because everything they offered to me was something I did not want. Now, coming off age, I became blinded by the bright world before me, and my desire to be respect turned into a frenzy. The young child, dancing slow and tender, turned into an adult who waltzed through the world without understanding what he did. I looked at my feet and stumbled._

_I stumbled and fell so deeply, that everything around me turned into a dark, silent void. The only voice I heard was the one telling me to get rid of everything I was. What I do to transform into someone I am not? I pursued, and I succeeded. There was a face in the mirror I didn’t recognize. A voice unknown to me spoke for me, words, which poisoned my mouth and left it sore. Then I saw what I have done and all that remained was a shadow so small, I crossed it and left it behind._

_So, I took what was left of my pride and climbed out of the darkness to find nothing but shame, and I understand because this is what I deserved. The choir I danced to was vast and painful._

_I stood at the ruins of a house I built with my own hands, a voice that kept returning reminded me how worthless this building is. I wanted to put it back together, but lacked the skill._

_There it was, left behind in a landscape shaped by the moon and stars, and the fields caressed thoughts of guilt and resentment. What was I to do? Continue dancing on my own inside an empty theatre with eternity leading the dance with cold hands? Or should I hide in alleys like a stray dog and feed on the garbage people find insignificant? Pitying myself until the voice disappears, or allow it to remain and torment me with a returning monologue?_

_I travelled and found myself in the company of someone my father would have found not worthy of all the time in the world, and she erased the words from my head, and said to find silence, and in silence I found beauty. Simplicity, understanding. Soon I noticed how nothing in the world could achieve any fulfillment to me if I did not ask forgiveness for the mistakes I have done, but these mistakes were held captive. The mind which spoke the word, the hand which held the pen, and the pen which spread the ink. Who am I to make any decision when one destroyed the simplicity I strived for? The word now was merely a note between page two and three in a notebook full of words I did not remember. An apology means nothing when there is no room left for it on all the many pages. But paper needs ink to exist, and words to carry, but I ran out of both._

_How do you judge a person who wronged the world, when you have done the same many times? I stopped doing so and began looking at my reflection in the mirror. The child I have been died long ago, forlorn inside a monster which devoured it. I still hear this child telling me to not listen to the voice, and remembering the words, I stopped listening. A few breaths, a strong will to understand what you did when you were here to obey and to fulfill other people’s demands. Good riddance to the riches of the world I could have had. Then I found you, and you were there. It was the only time in my life that I have not succeeded, and I have never felt as easy as then. How I wished to be able to speak, to say the word, but I couldn’t._

_A simple word. You said it, instead, and this was when I found out what she meant by beauty lying in simplicity. Nothing can compare to the feeling. I did relieve myself of whom I was, then. Not the child, but the man my father wanted me to be._

* * *

 

He wanted to join the crowd sometimes, to be seen, to see. Jack hated hiding behind a mask. At least that was what he felt lately. But who was he to unsettle everyone for his own gain? How did _that_ feel?

                He stared at the mirror and grumbled at his face. His neck sore because he didn’t wear his collar, his head wobbly because he was tired. A wince tried to chase it all away. Perhaps a shave would help to feel a little better about himself? _We all have one of those days._ He grabbed the razor and went on, trying to be nimble and not cut his skin. After finishing the job, Jack investigated himself again and rolled his eyes because it didn’t bring the satisfaction he desired, and went ahead trimming the hair on his head. _Go wild._ After finishing that, as well, he barely recognized himself and happiness complimented the result. He cleaned the sink, forced himself to wear the collar and mask, and left the small bathroom. The light outside was too much, as usual, but ignoring it became one of his best skills. He entered the sacred little room and as the door closed behind him, he sighed loud and tossed his visor carelessly on the table.

                “Are you still here?” He spoke to silence, and silence answered.

                “No,” Hanzo said,” I am merely a ghost, hovering over a silly mission report.” He was done. News arrived that poison was the ultimate cause of death to the man they tried to find before anyone else could. Hanzo removed his glasses. His eyes went over to Jack and he blinked surprised.

                “You look rather empty today.”

                “Thank you.” Jack travelled along the table, not caring about the coffee, and sat at it, as well.

                “Your hair is almost gone. You look bald with that color of yours.” Hanzo smirked dry.

                “It grows back.”

                “Yes, indeed it will.”

                To Jack, Hanzo seemed to be in a blue mood. Whether he was tired or truly dissatisfied with something, he could not say because his empathetic skills suffered over the years. Should he ask?

                Hanzo thought to defend himself first. “I did sleep, though. Perhaps a little too long.”

                It was a four-hour-sleep instead of the usual three.

                Jack looked at him with two persuasive, blue eyes. Hanzo replied with a short glance, looking back the monitor, and then another swift glance followed. “You also look very satisfied with yourself this morning. What happened? Is there a victory looming at the horizon?”

                Jack almost wanted to agree, but didn’t. It would have been rude. “No.” He said. “You’re appearing to be preoccupied.”

                Hanzo noticed a question lingering in the corner of his eyes. _How are you? What is the matter?_ He hated questions of this kind because it required him to answer maturely. “As it seems, I am not as good with words as I thought.”

                “You’re in a sour mood because your report is badly written?”

                “I am not in a sour mood, mister Morrison. It is morning, and I, not a morning person most of the time, must cope with the fact that I need to talk to you at such an ungodly hour. You of all people.”

                “I’m sorry for the inconvenience.” Jack thought to best have another coffee and fill himself with as much as caffeine as it was necessary to handle a grumpy archer at 7 am in the morning. Rolling toward the coffee machine on his chair, he kept talking. “What bothers you? I’m good at keeping a secret or two. Did that for five years.”

                Hanzo glared at him. That was the question he wanted to avoid. How should he answer?

Jack was used to Jesse just pouring it all out. Then again, he trusted him, and Hanzo didn’t. At least not yet, and he didn’t know how to do that. He looked at him for too long and it made Hanzo uncomfortable, which again made him exhale overloaded. As though he wanted to rid himself of annoying thoughts, but lacked the right words.

                “I have no idea how to do that.” Hanzo made a noise somewhere between a grunt and growl.

                “What?” Jack sipped on his coffee. It was too strong and he added more sugar as if that helped.

                “Talking about anything that isn’t related to all this with someone I barely know.”

                “We can practice that!” Jack said and he took another sip. Now the coffee was too sweet. He put it aside.

                “I avoid places with many people because I do not want to see my brother, since he is here. Which is bad behavior for many reasons, especially the fact that the reason why I am here is because of him. Now, every time that I do see him, I am confronted with each little thing I have done.” Hanzo leant back. “Now, don’t say anything too smart or I will force that grotesque mixture of hot bean water and sugar into your throat.”

                _Hot bean water._ Jack’s lips twitched and he scoffed amused. “It’s just like me, hiding behind a mask.”

                “Maybe I should try that.”

                Jack ruminated on the idea of how it must be, being responsible for someone’s death, and later seeing this person alive and well. Was it both good and bad? Jack remembered his brother when he came to join Gabriel’s little club of lost people. Meeting his brother one day was something he’d never expect. To have him be someone stuck in utter regret and self-loathing. Which was understandable, because he would feel the same. The events, unfolding, and touching it’s silver lining. He wouldn’t be here if he wanted to better himself on that matter. It captured Jack, without judgement since he was nothing more than someone who killed others himself. But barely did he understand the surroundings Hanzo grew up in, and so he had no fitting reply. “I wish I could say something uplifting.”

                “You’re not required to. Everything I did was my own fault.”

                “Don’t blame yourself on everything.” Jack said. “We grow up certain ways and believe that what we learned from our ancestors is correct; it is hard to see the mistakes in their legacy at first sight. Takes a lot of learning?”

                “Hm,” _He said something smart._

                “But I don’t understand anything of what happened with you and your brother, so it isn’t my right to judge.” Jack moved, attempting to pour himself another coffee. “Though I’m here if you need someone to talk to.”

                “Thank you.”

                Jack tasted the coffee and this time, it was right. His breast swell in pride and he drank. “You’re welcome.”

                “Can I ask you something?” Hanzo’s voice resounded softly.

                “Sure.”

                “Did you ever regret something in life?” Hanzo fumbled with a pen and kept typing down words to distract himself. Changing some sentences as he found them displeasing.

                “A lot of things.” Jack replied.

                “How did you deal with that?”

                “Oh, I didn’t.”

                Their eyes met. Jack shrugged. “I’m a soldier. We don’t think.”’

                Hanzo gave up and interlocked his fingers on his stomach. Jack lost all his mystery and duteous aura, replaced by something simpler. Something more human. Something, so Hanzo thought, he could grow very fond of, and he hated himself for that possibility. Jack radiated the picture perfect of American nostalgia. A black and white movie. A charming smile under a cap, a wink. He looked as though he jumped out of a vintage coca cola advertisement. Hanzo usually didn’t like that. He was so typical and yet rare enough to be considered one of a kind. Jack touched his forearm and Hanzo twitched under the unaccustomed physical contact.

                “To overthink the past isn’t always the best you can do when you’re trying to focus on the present.” Jack said with a pat. Then he let go and stood. “What’s done is done, no-one can turn back time. Hell, I wish I could. What matters is who are today.”

                Hanzo nodded weary. A minuscule smile moved the left corner of his mouth.

                “Now, I would advise you to get some sleep.” Jack sounded too paternal for Hanzo’s taste and so he scoffed.

                “I will have breakfast. That is just as comforting.” A dry joke arrived and Jack arched one brow. Hanzo passed him and squeezed his shoulder. “I’m not as good as I used to be in doing what people tell me.”   

                The hand rested on the spot for a while before it dropped. “Do you want to join me?”

                Now his second brow followed the other in astonishment. An invitation to join his company was an unexpected turn of events. Why wouldn’t he? Jack agreed and they headed to the smaller one of the mess halls, sit in a corner where no one would bother them and Jack faced the room with his back. Hanzo at on the other side as if it was his duty to watch his back. Jack’s pad blinked and he glanced at it. A message to which he replied short, then focusing on the food, hoping no one would recognize him even though they could barely see his face. Most of these people were half his age and he felt like a fucking archaeological artifact.

                It didn’t take long until Jesse joined and Hanzo seemed displeased with that for some reason. Jesse sat next to Jack and their thighs touched, whether that was intentional, Jack didn’t mind. He looked perfectly bewildered this morning with his damp hair and the cheeks still lit after a hot shower. He smelled like shower gel and cigarettes. What a splendid combination. He stole some bread off Jack’s plate and chewed on it.

                Jesse didn’t know what he could say since Hanzo remained in a sulk about the last time they spoke.

                “He was poisoned.” Jack broke the silence. “Rats lured by the blood, eating him alive. Then they died, too.” Hanzo grumbled and put the spoon of cereal back down.

                “What a stimulating contribution to this breakfast.” Hanzo complained.

                Jack watched his face: a façade of disgust.

                “Oh, I’m sorry.” Jack repeated dry.

                Jesse was unimpressed and sipped on his coffee. He has seen worse. His mind constructed a dialogue about how appropriate, or not, it was to flirt with Jack. God knew he wanted to, but Jesse felt coy and didn’t dare to after some time. His ears became hot and he scratched one. A gentle tension rose between them as they didn’t speak. Hanzo crossed his arms.

                Jesse noticed the look. It got stuck between analytical glances and a knowing sneer. “What are we going to do next?” Jesse asked, replying the look with a tense jaw.

                “Don’t ask me that,” Hanzo’s lips twirled and his head moved to the side, now locking Jack in his dark eyes, “ask the council elder.”

                Dropping his sandwich with force, his eyes send fiery arrows at Hanzo. It wasn’t so much the announcement that Hanzo expected him to lead them on, which he disliked as well, but the last part of his sentence that irritated him the most. “Fuck you.”    

                Hanzo laughed amused.

 

 

                It was hours later that Jesse retired to the resident library, empty at this late hour, and he searched for book which he loved when he was younger. It was a grim and sad tale, but he appreciated its content. It was, in his opinion, Richard Adam’s best novel; and it was about a bunch of rabbits. Or humans, depending on how readers interpreted it. After finding what he desired, he returned to the armory. Solitude was nothing he aimed for, and neither was talking. So, he sat on two crates and browsed through the book he read a long time ago.

He felt a swift draft behind him, but didn’t bother to look off the page. A mug ended up in his sight between book and chest, on it was a print that said: _fight evil, read more books._ Jesse followed the hand holding it and it didn’t take much more effort to find out who it was—he didn’t even have to turn around.

                He looked at the mug with a stubborn face.

                “I apologize.” Hanzo said gently.

                Jesse’s left hand rose to capture the mug by its bottom. He sniffed on the tea, and while he did, he noticed how close they stood to each other, and neither one of them minded that. Hanzo wore that _ridiculous_ shirt again; he was bothered by the tattoo shimmering through the cotton. It made him nervous. And heat up, but that could have been the tea. He didn’t want to stop sniffing on it because the short moment in which steam rose and minty scent tickled his senses, he got lost in a serene scenery. Like the painting, hanging on a wall before them, of the moon in bright white and yellow, and the landscape it kept watch on.

                “For what?” He didn’t know what Hanzo had to apologize for.

                “For treating you inappropriately during your training.”

                Jesse lifted his head back up and sipped on the tea. He peeked at his company, who was replying the look. Without much further ado, Jesse mumbled into the mug. “You’re not as stubborn as I first thought.”

                “Don’t choke on your own insolence.”

                Jesse laughed charming and leaned in against his chest just a little bit, enough to fill a gap, like a full-body nudge. “You know what the world needs more of?” Jesse inquired in a teasing tone wile Hanzo looked at the book. Silence fell for a while and he looked at his face as there came no immediate answer. “More grumpy, Japanese men with bows, because that totally enriches the world.”

                “You are insufferable.” Hanzo pulled the novel out of his hand and joined him against the crates.

Jesse just kept chuckling. Whilst drinking his tea, he looked for something else to read on his very own table nearby, but quickly became distracted by his company. The slow, graceful moves, no matter how minimal, where enough to keep him distracted. Jesse sucked in the air and pulled some book out of a drawer with an unknown aggression. He might combust. Though the idea of exploding right inside an armory while staring at this face could be a beautiful end, he sat down and watched him read for a long time. He marveled at the eyes fixated on the page. Their long lashes cast shadows on his upper cheeks, they were like a veil which kept unwanted peepers at bay. Nobody ought to see what happened behind these curtains. Jesse’s mouth hid behind his fist, as his elbow leaned on his arm like a pillar of support that prevented him from collapsing.

                “What is on your mind?” Hanzo seemed to have noticed the lingering eyes on his face. “Looking for another way to mock me?”

                “No!” Jesse shot up straight and sounded very offended.

                Hanzo’s face lit up as he started laughing, which angered Jesse because he couldn’t distinct his jokes from sincerity yet. As he saw the face Jesse made, stopped for a second to catch his breath. He nodded his chin and pointed to Jesse’s chest. He reached out and poked the spot until Jesse looked own. Doing so, Hanzo flicked his nose.

                “Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Jesse complained loud to his company’s amusement.

                “You are trying so hard to be unpredictable that old tricks are forgotten.” Hanzo remarked, still chortling. Jesse smacked his lips. Lightheartedly, Hanzo tossed the book back at him.

                “You don’t like the gritty, dark vibe of this story?” Jesse asked, being cocky.

                “Not my cup of tea.”

                “No?” Jesse took the novel whilst rising his mug. “Want mine?”

                Hanzo exhaled overloaded and rubbed his forehead. “Just go ahead and read; take your time.”

                Jesse didn’t hesitate and, even though that wasn’t exactly what Hanzo asked for, read aloud: “ _The primroses were over. Towards the edge of the wood, where the ground became open and sloped down to an old fence and a brambly ditch beyond, only a few fading parches of pale yellow still showed among the dog's mercury and oak-tree roots. 1 _

                “Hm,” Hanzo leant back against the crates and his eyes wandered off to something else. He found something more interesting than a story overflowing with symbolism and violent rodents – for he had seen enough bloody, small rodents—and kept looking. Jesse stopped reading aloud and sipped on the tea. He never thought tea to be that good. He remembered Ana making him one of those teas, supposed to make you feel tired and calm. He didn’t like that, and the taste still lingered on his tongue. This tea though was fine.

                Jesse looked up back at Hanzo, and his eyes rested on something, which woke Jesse’s interest. Jack entered the perimeter, a silhouette against the wide, tall windows covering the northern wall. He passed them turned a light on since dusk arrived, meddled with his handgun, and later with his visor. Hanzo beheld the mountains outside, then he returned his full attention to Jesse, whose shifty face expressed enough without needing words.

                Hanzo cleared his throat. “He is a handsome man.” It sounded like an excuse for his extended examination.

                “Yeah,” Jesse continued nursing his tea, “he is.”

 

 

 

Mission reports. Jack hated reading them because they were long, boring, and didn’t add much to this knowledge. He read it anyway, swiping names, faces, and locations about before him. The orange of the maps dyed his hair golden and returned the old strike-commander Morrison and his irresistible charm. Hanzo, reading the report as well, growled.

                “There is a typo.” He adjusted his glasses and put his pad down. Jack chuckled.

                 “Why are you laughing?”

                “You aim for perfection is lovely,” Jack replied without looking off the screens. “I didn’t even notice.”

                “Of course not.” Hanzo mumbled. The littlest mistakes of his own unsettled him. It was a thing. He couldn’t help it. He rolled up his sleeves. Jack dropped his hand and his weathered face turned toward the archer, who made a face as if he just witnessed a most atrocious event.

                “Don’t sass me, your highness.”

                “Huh,” Hanzo was good at pouting. It suited him well. Jack’s chin rose and, on the sly, wanted him to never stop sulking. “What is our next goal?” _And where is Jesse. It seems as though he wishes to avoid everything._

                “One of the others.” Jack shrugged. “They all spread all over the city. One has recently been seen meeting an unknown individual. If that is someone they know in private, or an associate, I don’t know yet. What I do know is that one person is of more significance, with more influence as well.”

                “The one who kills agents when they become a threat?”

                Jack shrugged one shoulder. “Looks like it.”

                “You have no single clue on his identity after years living in this city?”

                “Why should I? I didn’t come here to hunt Talon agents.” Jack put the pad down. “I came here to find something else. I don’t even give a shit.”

                “Why not?”

                “The same old trot. I’m too tired for this crap.”

                “Yet you’re here, telling me what to do. Peculiar. I don’t mind, however.” Hanzo checked his arm and picked on the skin as if there was something that didn’t belong there. He looked smug.

                 “What are you implying?” Jack became suspicious.

                “Oh, nothing.” Hanzo stood tall and their eyes met. Their problem was that both possessed two different types of natural authority. Two generals assigned to the same battle, striving for perfection in their own way. And while they felt no threat in another, there remained some rivalry buried below their mutual respect. Or was it more than respect? Both mastered the art of bluffing and expressionless looks so well, that neither of them knew what to do next. The best way to find out was through empirical research. Learning through experiments and observation. Since observation didn’t help, an experiment was in order.

                Hanzo stepped forward, cradled the side of his face, and kissed him. Jack stumbled back against the screen and mumbled a breathless “oh, Jesus”. That wasn’t exactly what he expected and at the same time, something he sensed. As if his mind knew the future and it told him through befuddled suspicions.

                After a while, he gave in and returned the kiss while wondering if what possible to feel devotion toward two people at the same time. Not one less or more than the other. Still did he not know if it was such a good idea to do that in a room like that. He turned off his communication device to make sure and let Hanzo fondle his face with his lips. Why was he like that? Did the old Jack Morrison die for real?

                Hanzo kissed him again and grabbed his crotch through his pants; a treatment Jack bemoaned in sincerity. He could push him on the table and do it right here, which he never considered before. Ignoring the fact that they were in a public space and that anyone could enter that room at any given time if they had a passcode. Jack tried to push Hanzo forward, but he was forced to remain in position as the hand slid pass the belt and into his pants. It was a little too cold. Hanzo made an impressed noise, although teasing.

                He spoke against Jack’s lips. “Not so bad for a man of your age.”

                Jack needed a moment before he understood what he meant. “Did you think it shrinks with age?”

                Hanzo’s lips lingered on his for a while, and his hand, as well, lay still. Jack grunted. Movement implied continuation. “Do you find me attractive?” Hanzo moved up enough to look into the scarred face before him. Jack’s eyes rose, as well, and Hanzo’s palm notified him that he did. It amused the archer to the extent of portraying this joy in a cocky smile.

                He raised his brows and removed his hand. Another kiss in time with a fastened belt announced a sudden end. Hanzo chortled and moved to leave the room. Jack caught his breath.

                “Are you serious?” He winced and watched him vanish behind the door. Was there ice somewhere in here?

 

 

Hanzo remembered the friend he made when he escaped old traditions and the world he grew up in. A former teacher, a friendly woman with a cat. He never asked for a friend then, but he found her, and she taught him to be as patient as he used to be. He, too, was her only friend, and when she died of old age, he mourned her for too long. Friends come into your life in moments where you least expect it. _Friends,_ he thought. A concept he has become a stranger to. As well as days off duty. What did that even mean? He couldn’t just rest. There was always something to be done, and investigations lying still did no good to anyone.

                Then he thought about the people they pursued and he reflected on possible identities of the individual who killed their own associates. If they were associates. Was it someone like him? Someone who wanted to break old, hurtful traditions? It made no sense. At least the captured some of them, dead or alive didn’t matter. Hanzo wanted to leave Mexico and move to a cooler place. The sun gave him several headaches throughout the day and made sleeping impossible. At least that was what he told himself.

                One of the things that satisfied him came in Jesse’s increased mood. Whatever the reason, it relieved him, too. He cared about his well-being simply because he could see himself in him. Sometimes, he caught himself caring too much and wanted to let go of that feeling, but that was that wise? He watched him walk around with his tousled brown tuft, in an old shirt that was black once, now grey. The sudden surge of joy added more loveliness to his overall appearance.

                “Does anyone want to spend the day off playing some board games?” Jesse asked. As if he wanted to play those games. Apparently, he did. Jesse found no reason to sacrifice himself to the hot sun and sat on the ground, legs spread, toes wiggling, reading the rules to refresh his knowledge. He was a charming man, as Hanzo thought, and not deserving of bad moods. Why did he care so much about him?

                Hanzo looked cautiously around the room: it was spacious, showed off privilege by someone with a name that roused expectation within this organization. It even had its own bathroom. Endless amounts of files scatted on desks and next to the bed, a whiteboard, open windows.

                It wasn’t weird seeing Jack here after their last encounter. Instead of acting offended, Jack kept a watchful, shifty eye on Hanzo. A strange look, something Hanzo forgot existed. Jack rubbed his sore neck and read reports. Did he have the same problem of having to focus on work all the time? The scar on his exposed neck was rosy, telling of a good recovery process. Still a littler paler than usual, though, he showed that even he needed time to get well.

                Jesse chugged whiskey. He had no problems avoiding tasks, as it seems. He put the glass on the ground next to him and pointed at his pad. “Do you remember monopoly?”

                Hanzo replied: “I don’t want to play it.”

                “Why?” Jesse was confused. How could anyone hate this game.

                “Because I used to win all the time and I don’t want to hurt your feelings.”

                “He doesn’t have them.” Jack, deadpan, flipped through a folder.

                “Okay!” Jesse nodded. “I’m saying: this is a great way to spend my day off. Should’ve just go into a dive and gotten myself drunk. Y’all are great company, thank you.”

                “Where else do we have to go?” Hanzo inquired while looking out of the window. “We don’t have friends.”

                Jesse should have invited Liliana to raise the mood. She would fit right in. He didn’t know what to say anymore and just sat on the ground with a pad full of manuals and rules. When you’re so used to being on-call, and spending any time on saving the world, he thought, there was little knowledge of how to spend your free time.

                “As soon as we’re done here,” Jesse started talking about work since that was the only thing he could come up with, “we’re supposed to move to Europe.”

                Jack disliked that idea. He wasn’t done here. “Good show.” He grumbled and rubbed his eyes since he felt dizzy. Jack niggled and piled up pillows, leaned back and eventually lay on the bed since his head resembled the stability of a boat with a hole. In the middle of the sea. Sharks circled around the boat and he drank seawater.

                “If I fall asleep, please don’t kill each other over losses and wins. They still need you to solve their problems.” Then he continued reading. His sight got worse and closed his eyes. Everything turned into a muddy reality mixed with dreams. His mind decided to think about Gabriel and their early days. How they have met, what he smelled like back then – Jack remembered that very well—and their idea of joining Overwatch. It occurred to him that he forgot how many years they were friends, and how many of those years they were involved with each other. All thrown away. Years after years passed and the world changed, something between them never changed not matter how far they drifted away from another. On bad days, he missed Gabriel so much that he sulked in a dark corner, on good days he just wanted to punch a wall. He remembered how Gabriel thought it was handy to get married, and how Jack panicked, volunteered for a difficult mission and stayed away for a month. It was not that he didn’t love him, but marriage sounded scary. He regretted his behavior.

                Now he was here. If they would have married another, would they have retired, as well? Taken a different job or position? Would he still be alive? Jack sighed and demanded a distraction. How did he do that? Ask to join any game after all? He was too tired for that and his focus was as vivid as a rotten plant. Someone kissed him. Was that real? A careful, loving kiss rested on his lips. He opened his eyes and looked in Jesse’s face. What a delightful sight. Jack never thought to find the same happiness in a person again. Especially not in him.

                He remembered how Jesse, in his early twenties, attempted to be taken serious as an adult and Gabriel kept teasing him. It was a game between them: Gabriel, who found someone to be a father to aside Fareeha, and Jesse, who didn’t ask for this. It exhausted Jack and he retreated. Jesse was stubborn and rebellious, and Gabriel who reminded him to be considerate and careful. Gabriel taught Jesse almost everything he knew, and adding Jesse’s own wits created a wanted talent. He was a good asset to anyone.

                Right now, he was a great blanket. Jack was in a dangerous position of falling in love again, or was it too late for that already?

                Jesse kissed his face. The hairs returned quick and tickled his lips. Sighs met his skin; hot and damp air that left a mark. Jack lazily raised one arm to Jesse’s side and hurried under his shirt to pull him closer. Jesse stretched his arms like waking cat and pressed his elbows into the mattress above Jack’s shoulders. He straddled him first, then lay down and nuzzled Jack’s face with his. Was he drunk?

                Jesse was stuck in the same kind of pleasure for few minutes now. Hands on his back, moving up and down, gripping his buttocks and then releasing them. All he could do is let it happen since it felt great, and try to find some solace in Jack’s face, which always had that effect on him. It didn’t take long until Jack noticed and he thought it wouldn’t be too unfair to participate. His kiss became more deliberate and he pulled on Jesse’s shirt to remove it. It was warm anyway and Jesse sweat enough already.

                The shirt landed next to them and Jack’s hands returned to his back, where they caressed the skin with subtle dances of his fingers. “Are you two ganging up on me,” Jesse’s voice cracked while he tried to catch his breath. “that’s great.” His laugh suffocated in a moan. He moved his backside up to give the other one more room to act. Lips teased sensitive skin, his underwear also left the spot and he still sweat. Glistening little droplets gathered on his back, on his shoulders, and his face. More weight added to the mattress, and Jesse winced at the play coming to a sudden stop. Hands continued where the mouth was before, and he moved higher, his mouth at Jack’s ear, enjoying the massage that made him wobbly. Hanzo found the right spot and Jesse swallowed dry air. He envied that skill for some reason. _Of course, he had nimble fingers. What did I expect._

                Jesse found the courage to let his hands slip underneath Jack’s shirt and trail skin, resting on his chest, moving up and nibbling on him. Jack closed his eyes and savored the kisses on his face while his hands tracked down to find something to hold. Hanzo took care of the rest: he removed his fingers and thought it was smart to remove Jack’s pants, as well. Which was not as easy as in Jesse’s case, but he did it anyway. It took him time to figure out how to work the fabric until he succeeded. Once exposing what he aimed for, he went down on it.

                Jack cleared his throat in surprise and his fingers dug into Jesse’s back, grabbing muscle and flesh, and travelling lower. A massaging mouth made him arch his back, working on him with so much intensity that he writhed against Jesse. He already forgot what he thought about before all this. Replacing the mouth, two hands took care of precautions before Hanzo’s mouth focused back on Jesse. They traveled up along his spine and a tongue gathered the trail of glistening little pearls.

                Hanzo sat between Jack’s thighs, on folded legs, holding on to Jesse’s hips. He directed them in his stead. Jesse moved down on Jack and as soon as he did, growled in desire. Lubricant was supposed to make it all easier, but that was a lot to take in. Jesse grabbed the sheets with both hands and accidentally bit down on Jack’s lower lip, who furrowed his brow. One of his hands shot up to his face and he placed his thumbs on his lips. One Jesse adjusted to the circumstances, he moved lower and the inconsistent sighs turned into delighted moans. After a while, Hanzo bent across him, placing little pecks on his shoulders and moved careful to join Jack. It sent Jesse into a place far away from this this one and his voice became louder. That was a level of bliss he wasn’t familiar with. _Make sure to stretch before vigorous physical activity._ He heard a voice inside his head and wished he would have taken that into consideration before having two of this size sending him into a magic forest. All that nimble handy work before wasn't enough. He didn’t have the best durability already and this didn’t help.

                He tried to kiss Jack but his mouth rested on him instead, overwhelmed. Jesse didn’t even have time to enjoy this intimacy to the fullest. _Riding cowboys didn’t save many horses. This was bullshit._

Hanzo’s moves became a little cheekier. His hands rested on each shoulder, sliding down the arms and holding his wrists in place. Jack’s hands had moved to his thighs in the meantime, and caressed them with his thumbs as he noticed a leak on his stomach right before an increase in speed. Each trust found company in a following grunt until Jesse's throat was sore. And yet he asked for more, pushing against Hanzo behind him while vocally demanding more speed. 

                Jesse’s release did feel like an explosion, at least to him. Describing an orgasm as an explosion was usually most unfitting, or even laughable. Jesse expelled few curses and collapsed onto Jack’s chest, who lifted one hand to push his head toward his and cover his cheek with gentle kisses. Hanzo removed himself with utmost carefulness. Jack followed. Jesse felt sore as he lay down on his back next to them and considered drinking five gallons of cold water. Although he was too exhausted. His legs were made of rubber, his backside still tingled, and his lungs hurt from the activity. Perhaps he should quit smoking one day. He could use a cigarette now. Instead, he covered his face with one arm and wished he would stop sweating.

                Meanwhile, Hanzo being an attentive coeval, made sure to clean up Jack’s stomach and wondered if this was the end. Judging by his very own excitement, he didn’t want to serve himself and glanced at Jack, whose hand gestured him to move closer. Naturally, Hanzo did not do so and decided to straddle him instead. Jack’s hand weakened midair before finding a new target in Hanzo’s left hand. He took it in his and pulled it to his face, kissing the knuckles as if he was royalty.

                “Ever so charming when they want something from you…” Hanzo teased him but conceded and allowed him in after a minor preparation, but not entirely. He decided that the tip was enough for now and neither kissing would be happening until later. After all, he wanted to take a good look at whatever it was that befuddled Jesse to such extent.

                Jack on the other hand marveled at the sight before his eyes. He was a statue, or a divine painting come to life. His face looked like a portrait painted by a divine hand. His skin was flawless and his body showed only few scars: the perks of a sniper. He went deeper and once Hanzo sat comfortably, an elegant dance took over. He closed his eyes at the arrival of Jack’s right hand on his face, fingertips following invisible landmarks, sneaking around his neck. He shivered under the soft touches since they were comforting. Jack’s fingers traveled further, finding the band that held his hair together and removing it slowly. His fingers snaked through the hair and went back to his neck. Jack’s hand went across Hanzo’s chest, his stomach, and his thighs. After the journey, he took his hand again as he tensed up for a moment. Hanzo's hand rested on Jack’s chest, the other took Jack’s and he wetted the palm with his tongue. He pushed it down on his lap and that was enough for Jack to understand what he was supposed to do.

                Hanzo then went down to kiss him and Jack rose his thighs to move a little faster into him. The hand did its work and his kisses on Jack’s neck turned into careful bites. Jack, himself nearing the end, allowed the free hand to rush down and the arm moved around the back. Hanzo was buried in his neck and Jack was sure there would be something there tomorrow; either blue or red. Jack found support in Hanzo’s shoulder and pressed his lips against the skin as his less tender pounding announced the end. Hanzo seemed to need a while to gather himself because he wasn’t used to that intimacy. Jack traced his lips with his thumb and Hanzo kissed it, just once, before he let go off him and removed condoms, tossed them in a bin, and thought to leave the bed. Jack reached out and held his arm in wordless captive. Hanzo rolled his eyes, and not because he didn’t like that move, but because he felt something looming at the horizon and it was called _emotions._

Jack, tired and with a wrinkled face, said: “Why are you like that?”

                Hanzo made a noise since he secretly longed for something like that, he convinced himself to lay down. Next to him lay Jesse, snoring gently, and Jack on the other side, fighting with thin covers. No matter how hot it was, he needed something to cover him. Hanzo’s left hand rested on Jack’s chest again, who followed the arm and eyed Hanzo. “Don’t say anything.”

                Hanzo chuckled and considered to rest his head on his chest, too. It looked comfortable. _Why not._ He did so and two arms wrapped around his shoulders. Someone behind him moved wearily and a damp-haired head leaned against his back. Sometime then, he fell asleep.


	10. The wolf and the lion enjoyed the night, and the jackal tumbled about

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hanzo and Jack investigate and get distracted by a resident festivity, where they bond. Jack and Jesse confuse each other over how much they care for another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for being late with this chapter, but I have had a rough couple of weeks behind me. Then I was so exhausted that I didn't know what to write, hence why the chapter might seem a little chaotic or rushed. I hope that it makes sense and that you enjoy it anyway.
> 
> There is not much noteworthy content in here for those sensitive to some themes. The only thing happening is a quickie behind a restaurant in the rain.  
> I also started to add some art, since I'm back at digital. I hope you don't mind.
> 
> Thanks for reading, I love you!

“Under rich, relentless skies,

I’ve been setting highs

I felt you walk right through me

You’re the thing that I invoke

My all persistent goal.”

 

 

A cold breeze woke him and he searched for the blanket, but it vanished. He yawned and rubbed his eyes until they began to itch, which irritated him. Slowly remembering last night, he rose to sit and tried to comprehend the reality of it all. Has it a been a good idea? Jack cleared his throat and rubbed his eyes again; complaining about how watery and wet they were, he attempted to wipe them dry with his palms.

                “I understand that you aren’t a morning person?”

                Jack blinked and looked at the figure before him with narrowed eyes. _He meant the wet eyes. Exquisite humor._ “No.”

                Hanzo nodded and adjusted his shirt after getting fully dressed, trying not to make this too awkward. He looked at the curtains and pulled them in front of the bright light source while Jack picked up a shirt and dried his eyes with it. It wasn’t his shirt. “Oh.”

                He dropped it and eventually noticed that Hanzo was dressed. “What are you doing?” Jack wasn’t articulated this morning—a usual occurrence since the longer the nap, the more time he needed to wake up.

                “I’m going to take a shower.” Hanzo didn’t bother adding any kind of emotions to his voice.

                “There is a shower here.” Jack pointed to the bathroom door.

                Hanzo nodded his eyes up and sighed as he looked back down. Jack wasn’t getting what he meant yet and gestured that he understood, which could have also been interpreted as a _whatever you want._ Jack watched him walk out of the door and he wondered if he should have made him stay, but maybe that wasn’t his thing and maybe he did need that solitary shower. His eyes dropped and he found a mummy next to him—or rather someone looking like one. Jesse slept, rolled up in _his_ blanket. It made Jack smile and he forced himself not to do that. It was hard.

                He lay back down and plucked on the blanket, trying to find the weak spot. All the little tugs woke Jesse, too, and he moaned. He peaked out from under the blanket and his perfect bed-head appeared.

                “You stole my blanket.” Jack said dry.

                “I don’t remember… it had your name on it?” Jesse babbled weary. He rolled from stomach to side, facing Jack. “Come and get it.” However, he closed his eyes and showed no interest in a match.

                Jack pulled hard enough to find an entrance and snuck the linen across his body. Compared to the cold morning air, Jesse was a burning campfire. He could get used to it: waking up to company, fighting for the blanket, pillow-talk. Jesse’s arm pushed through the small gap between the arch of Jack’s neck and the pillow. _Do you like me that much?_

                He never truly understood the concept of love, until he met someone who turned it upside down. Before that, he was _in love_ with several people for whatever reason. Because he found them beautiful, because they were intelligent in a way he wasn’t, or because they seemed to be good at something. All kinds of people. Men and women alike and not until _that one time,_ he acted on it. Why would he? At least not like that…

                Now, he lay here, half way through his life with someone next to him when he didn’t believe in that stuff anymore. Should he run away, too? Jack stared at the ceiling when Jesse’s other hand rested on his chest. For some reason could he not breathe and he looked at the top of the room to find some blemishes. Or anything else to focus on.

                “Not so bad waking up like that…” Jesse whispered sleepily and scooted closer. His face disappeared in the curve of Jack’s neck. The breath on his skin was warm and dry. Somehow, Jack felt uncomfortable. Was it because he still believed that he was alive and that this was considered a form of betrayal? Jack shivered and it wasn’t for the crisp air. He took Jesse’s hand and after some hesitation, removed it from his chest. With heavy legs, he moved out of bed and looked for at least some of his clothing items. The wind blew the curtain aside and some light made its way through the barrier, carrying its brightness back into the room.

                Jesse bemoaned a lack of warmth and rested his head on his right hand. He looked at Jack, who felt it and glanced back at him. Jack knew that kind of look. He saw it on himself once; long ago. “Please don’t look at me like that.” He whispered and focused back on his clothing while he still sat on the edge of the mattress.

                “Like what? Hungover?” Jesse crunched his nose. “What’s the matter?”

                Jack shook his head. “Nothing I want to talk about.”

                Jesse scoffed and sat up behind him, his knees up, trying to find something to say but nothing came to mind. Sudden realism hit him; as though he dissociated the whole time or walked through a dream with an isolated mind. He tried to not feel angry about believing everyone he loved once, in any form, was dead while they weren’t. Why did he not deserve to know the truth? Should he forget some things and forgive them, or was his hurt mood justified? He rolled his lips and left the bed. He quickly slipped into his briefs and stomped off into his bathroom where he turned on the water to wash his face. The tiles where cold underneath his feet, and the water dripped down his chest. It all cooled him and his skin ruffled. He picked up an old shirt and put it on. As he turned around, Jack stood in the doorway with crossed arms and Jesse’s attention returned to the sink.

                “I’m sorry.” Jack said.

                “Yeah,” Jesse replied monotone. “You already said that.”

                “I mean it.”

                Jesse nodded quiet and thought about what he should do next. Brushing his teeth? Take a shower? Jack stood there as if he waited for him to make the decision, and he looked absentminded. All what he wanted was knowing whatever it was that bothered him to such extend that he stopped with anything else. Instead, he wasn’t allowed to find out and so, he withdrew from the notion and tried to ignore it. The thing was that he did not want to ignore it. Familiar to this kind of mindset, he decided to take a bath instead.

“Wanna join me?” Jesse asked without looking back at him. He let the water run and waited for the answer, which never came. Jesse glanced up as a few minutes passed. Is that what heartbroken meant? To stare into space for several minutes, revisiting long-gone moments and lingering in sentimentalities as though one was a boat in the middle of a rough sea? Clueless on what to do, he walked over and leant against him with an arm around Jack. As though he rested against a pillar from a bygone era of glory and fame. One of those standing in Greece which lead the way to a conglomeration of ruins belonging to myths, to battles, to forgotten heroes. The ghost among ruins gave life to stone, and its weak breath revived the old tales for just for a moment. In a trice, everything disappeared. One was alone again.

                Seconds passed until Jack’s muscles loosened up and he replied to the embrace with an evenly devoted gesture. He didn’t deserve that kind of thing from someone he lied to for such a long time. Even as a friend, or a former ally. The sudden surge of emotional value in their relationship worsened the whole thing. Did he genuinely care about him? For several years, he floated around like a satellite without any interest left on the world that he tried to save once. Then gravity got to him and he crashed down, into the soil. Stuck in the fundament of his own failures, he stared at the world and wondered why he was still here. Why _was_ he still here?

                Jesse’s hand held the back of his neck as he kissed Jack’s cheek. Then he released himself and walked back to the tub. He undressed and slid into the water. Jack turned away and disappeared soundlessly, which made Jesse sigh and he grabbed a book to distract himself. Sometime later, the scent of coffee reached the bathroom and Jack returned with two mugs. He joined Jesse who peeked up, off the lines of the book, and directly at his face. The brown eyes unsettled Jack and his ears turned red. He was too old for this.

                Jesse picked up the coffee and kept eyeing him because he noticed the influence of the looks, and he liked that. He snorted and drank coffee. He also appreciated the sight in front of him. Age shafted Jack into something more comfortable, something more laid back. Jesse wondered if it was the same for him, but then he never cared. At his arrival here, he was scrawny and malnourished. Gabriel knew how to help with that and not so much later, Jesse began to look a lot healthier. Nowadays, he knew the importance of reserves.

 Jack tried to contain himself and wished his ears would stop being red, but that would take forever. His hands felt hot, too, but not from the water. A heat roused by a look and some intimacy. He started to cherish staring at Jesse’s face with his dominant cheek bones and the intense, brown eyes. He liked his smile because it lit up his entire face and infected everyone around him, and the way he licked his lips nervously before he showed his teeth. Jack grunted and leant back against the foot end of the tub. Jack also liked Jesse’s legs and he wondered if it was adequate touching them now, or if there was an unspoken rule of not doing that.

                “You look like an old dog who just smelled his own fart.” Jesse remarked dry, attempting to raise the mood.

                Jack splashed water at him, and Jesse complained because it wetted the book’s pages. He looked at Jack and the face he pulled made him laugh. _That kind of laugh again._ Soon, silence grew between them and this silence did nothing but soothe a morning with feeling seldom experienced. Jesse read and his eyes focused on the words, something he missed being able to do. Jack put the mug down and rested his face against his hand, watching the foam shrink and the steam rise. His other hand touched Jesse’s right calf and he closed his eyes. He caressed it absentminded.

                None of them spoke during the bath, since words would mean nothing and just destroy the moment.

 

 

 

 

                Few hours later, Jesse focused on their files. His hair unkempt and his cheeks red, but he didn’t care. A tiny pencil stuck between his teeth and wiggled whenever he chewed on it out of habit. A frown persisted, eyes small as he sorted names and events. There was no way to begin a conversation, or any form of dialogue. Jack watched him for a while until he noticed how much he admired his determination. Lastly, he didn’t want to interrupt that. He left in silence and made his way to the small conference room. Another suspect caught their attention and he decided that they must be found. He needed to be productive. Someone foraged through the room, looking for something and of course it was the archer. Little, displeased noises arose out of the search until he found what he was looking for: another document lost in a pile of documents. It appeared on the screen soon after. Jack looked at the face: someone he couldn’t recall.

                “Who is that?”

                Hanzo jumped surprised, not expecting anyone. Having been so deep into his search, he didn’t notice Jack entering the room. Jack’s lips twitched and his blue eyes received slight judgement. Hanzo grunted. “Someone worth investigating.”

                “Now?” Jack asked. “Do we know where he is?”

                “No, but I do know where he was.” Hanzo stood next to him, arms crossed, nose wrinkled. What a strange warm it was between them, Jack thought. He enjoyed it. “Smaller suburb. Hiding in front of everyone. Not so illogical after all.”

                “Just because they are criminals doesn’t mean they aren’t intelligent.” Jack said, sarcastically.

                “Ha!” Hanzo faked amusement. “By the bye: who said that you’re joining me?”

                “I did. I know that you favor doing things on your own and escaping any possible co-operation, but wouldn’t it be wiser to have someone watching your back?”

                “Maybe it is me who is watching your back.” Hanzo replied cocky and he moved away from their shoulder-to-shoulder position as expected.

                “Let’s get started then.” Jack proposed. A little background research didn’t take too long. Enough knowledge to find the informant who was hiding in the midst of young families and some students in an area known for merry peacefulness. It could be both easy and difficult to find them, depending on their social ratio. The best way of hiding is to have as many friends as possible. A good image, a fake life everyone accepted. While they headed out, neither of them brought up a personal topic. Hanzo wasn’t in the right mood to recite last night’s feelings, and Jack thought that it would make him uncomfortable, so he retorted to silence. Hanzo wore a leather jacket, with rolled-up sleeves, and Jack liked that look. The scent of the jacket left a trace in the air which he obeyed to willingly. He was fancy, even on duty. How did he make time for this?

                People in the neighborhood buzzed around preparing for a later activity, too distracted to see the two outsiders poking through their streets. The colorful houses gave them enough anonymity, and the bright hues caught the sunlight. They turned into abstract paintings, chimes danced in the wind, dogs barked and a cat ran away from them. Jack wondered what kind of event would be happening this night, and so he looked around for any indicators instead of focusing on the task at hand. Hanzo found the right building and picked the lock.

                “Shouldn’t we knock first?” Jack said behind him.

                “There is no-one inside. I don’t need knocking.” Hanzo opened the door. “Go ahead and knock if it pleases you.”

                Jack followed him inside and cold replaced heat. Darkness replaced sun, and the walls were of a sterile white. Wooden stairs lead them to the upper level. A simple house with common furniture: no personal belongings as photographs or anything of that kind. Four chairs surrounded a dinner table with a vase on it. The kitchen was small and there wasn’t anything in the fridge except for an expired pack of milk and a single apple. Dust gathered on an empty desk.

                “He must have been gone for a while.” Jack remarked. His eyes focused on the bathroom. It was all too clean and to neat. Hanzo headed to the bedroom instead and kept searching for clues. People always left them somewhere, and they did so unware. Clothes, folded in the closet, rested there unused. Empty drawers in small night tables, a lamp that didn’t work.

                “He must have left about a week ago.” Jack concluded based on the milk’s date and the last time he was recorded around the area. Yet were there no records of him leaving the city. Where would he hide if he kept hiding in plain sight for months? He spied through the clothes but there was nothing. This informant, once caught, could lead them to the person behind several attacks on civilians in this town, the museum included. That one was personal.

                Hanzo found a long hair and held it up between two gloved fingers. Jack crossed his arms. “Farsighted, huh?”

                “I don’t like loose hairs in random places,” was the only thing he said before he secured it. “Not that it helps.” He returned to this usual realistic view with a soupçon of pessimism.

                “Perhaps someone here knows a little bit more about him.”

                “Do you honestly think they will tell us?” Hanzo rose and peeked out of the window.

                “We won’t know until he we tried.”

                Jack continued looking through the rooms and found some old postcards in the bathroom, an empty canister, and a pair of shoes. That was all he left behind. He tried to figure out how he left: early in the morning before anyone woke up? During a busy afternoon when no-one cared? Or as though he was about to go to work? Their search lead them to families of all kinds. He was a book-keeper, they said. Why did everyone choose this occupation? Because it was boring and not worth sharing? A lonely work? Simple. He left last week Tuesday. One restaurant owner saw him leaving as usual, and never coming back. _Perhaps he went on vacation?_ She said. What a useless investigation.

                Jack rubbed his stomach because he was hungry, and he wanted to do something else… something more uplifting. He turned off his comm.

                “Finishing time?” Hanzo chuckled and he seemed rather delighted himself. Was it the sunset? The music coming from the little, social gathering further down the street? The smell of food? Jack shrugged. He suddenly felt blue. Sometimes, he wished he could just mix with those people and be no-one. Just a man with a house and a simpler job, someone who made friends, someone with nothing to worry about. Cook for someone. Fold laundry. Be there, enjoy food and meet someone who enriches his life with domestic devotion. He longed so much for inner peace that he forgot to work toward it. Everything appeared so difficult and senseless to him lately that he wished he would have never picked this path after finishing everything five years ago, but he was a lovelorn fool and there was only one thing that mattered to him in all these years. Until now.

                “A few times in life, it isn’t so bad to drop everything and just be whomever you want to be.” Hanzo said faint. He seemed to catch Jack’s thoughts, or read his body language. Maybe Jack acted obvious. Who knew. He didn’t want to ask.

                “Do you want a burrito?” Hanzo asked. His voice was monotone as they neared the festivity where lights lit up, exchanging the sun, and the music was loud but not irritating. Jack chuckled defeated and wanted to head back, but something told him to do whatever else life offered right now. Hiding with this mood didn’t work this time because he had company. An unusual feeling. He looked at the happy faces and then thought about it. Jack found a nearby seat consisting of a table and two benches. Nobody sat here and he took off his mask and the jacket. He dropped everything on the bench and used the jacket to cover it so that no-one would be bothered by it. Then he rubbed his face and let the wind touch his skin. Hanzo looked at him with a smile as though there rested some ancient knowledge on Jack’s face, and he was the only one to decipher it.

                “I totally want a burrito.” Jack replied. Hanzo nodded and walked over to the stand. Meanwhile, Jack inhaled the fresh summer night’s air and the lights above his head shone a warm light down on him which didn’t hurt. He looked up: small balls hid the bulbs and swayed in the breeze. Jack poked one with his index finger and watched it swing harder.

                Hanzo returned with their dinner and Jack took the food. “Thank you.” He took a bite. “When was the last time you had fun?” Jack inquired, and he sounded somewhat condescending without having the intention. This additional thought came too late though.

                Hanzo, sucking on a straw, looked at Jack with a frown instead of answering the question. Jack cleared his throat. “I mean,” he shoved the food to one cheek with his tongue. “Like this?”

                He pointed at the people all around them. They were a turbulent whirlwind of joy and happiness; it made Jack feel like an alien. Hanzo didn’t want to reply because he was not in the setting for sentimental or melancholic speeches. Instead, he sucked on his drink.

                “Okay.” Jack said and continued eating.

                Sometime later came a reply. “I did enjoy myself very much last night. Though I assume it isn’t something to be covered in a public conversation.”

                Jack looked at his profile: still drinking, or rather chewing on the straw, watching people. “Why not?”

                Hanzo replied the look and it made Jack shrug dismissively. He looked away from the grey-haired menace and downed the hand with the cup. “We shouldn’t let this distract us from our professional goals, however.”

                Jack now nodded, and Hanzo watched him devour the burrito as if he didn’t eat for a couple of days and he was unapologetic about it. He wished that Jack would say something else or at least imply something else. Instead, he took the cup out of his hand and sipped on the drink. Then he wrinkled his face and returned it. “Do you ever drink something else than tea in any form?”

                “No.” Hanzo felt offended.

                Jack, finished with his snack, laughed and it made him look younger immediately. The orange lights supported that effect and Hanzo felt warm under the laughter. As he calmed down, he tried to find something to talk about and the whole thing felt like an awkward first date. Noticing that, Jack wanted to hold onto something as if his mind switched back to younger days.

                “You know,” Jack said, and It was such an American phrase that Hanzo chortled short. “About that thing… you’re quite a…” Jack struggled with the words since he wasn’t well-versed in philandry. At least not all the time and he failed with people he did not know too well. “You’re good company.”

                Hanzo’s lips twirled in a gentle smile but he said nothing.

                “I don’t mind if you remained such good company.” Jack nodded to himself, finding the words fitting and not as inadequate as he first thought. “I need a drink.”

                “Good idea.” Hanzo marched on to a bar and let Jack order something to loosen up his tenseness. Why was he so nervous? It was interesting seeing him like that, without his military composure, just a man wanting a drink trying to be entertaining for someone else. He appreciated that and thought a little charm wouldn’t be so displaced after all.

                Jack nursed his drink as Hanzo spoke, ignoring his own for a while. “It’s a rarity that someone like you crossed my path in the most unexpected time.”

                “ _Someone like me_?” Jack repeated confused.

                “Someone who is handsome and possesses a pleasant personality. There was one time in my life when that happened and it was twenty years ago, I was a teenager with a strange crush that should not be reciprocated. Which was for the better since I was too young for that.”

                He looked at Jack, whose face changed to a red hue. He didn’t take personal compliments easily. “The best part is,” Hanzo continued. “That there are two at once. Quite confusing.”

                “What about all the other people? Weren’t they pleasant?” Jack tried to distract. He didn’t think of himself to be that great of a person.

                “No. They were not what I expected. Too selfish.” Hanzo eventually picked up his drink. He sniffed on it and was surprised that Jack remembered his taste.

                Jack was astonished by finding out that two people liked him to such extend that they complimented him and tried to charm him so that he stayed. It was too much to handle and no amount of drinks could help with that. Two personalities so different that he wondered how they even ended up working together without starting one fight after another. Unbeknownst to him, yet, did they share one thing, one little mutual desire. “Do you sometimes wonder what it must be like to live a life like them?” Asked Hanzo, and Jack followed his eyes pointing at the people.

                “A simpler life, with no problems to worry about that seem otherworldly. No amount of guilt over something you’ve done that is so dreadful, you can barely look in the mirror. And while they may think that their problems have the potential to fill a tragedy, I’d rather have those than my own.”

                “I’ve been a farmer for 19 years.” Jack reflected on the things he said. “Sometimes, I do regret everything and wished to have been content with the corn in my parents’ fields. Then I realize that I met a couple of people I wouldn’t have ever met if I would not have left home.”

                Hanzo’s left hand twitched as its fingers fumbled with another. Jack felt that because it was close to his own. The nervousness roused by unasked for mental associations tickled his senses and he didn’t want to think about it anymore. Having the same changes recurring like a circle of gloom exhausted him sometimes. Jack decided to help ending the fidgeting and covered the hand with his; burying the dancing fingers in his palm. It wasn’t just him holding his hand, it was him attempting to calm a chaotic set of thoughts. Hanzo was thankful and inhaled. With his exhale, the finger’s quit for good.

                “Would you like to dance?” Hanzo’s mood changed quick and he looked at Jack, whose brows shot up. “I can’t dance… you know as I said: I’m a farmer.”

                Hanzo turned around to face him and took one backward step toward the crowd, now behind him. Jack looked so small under the lights. And afraid. “How do you scare Jack Morrison? You ask him if he wanted to dance.”

                “Ssh,” Jack looked about like a startled dog. “Not so loud.”         

                “Why? Are you uncomfortable with your fear’s reception?”

                “No,” Jack curled his lips. “The other thing.”

                Hanzo agreed that he should not say his name too loud and nodded slow. He then offered him his hand, which Jack beheld with caution. _What a visually pleasing hand, though._ He thought as he marveled at the body part, and maybe he just wanted to touch it, hence why he gave in to take it. Once close enough to move with the slow music, Hanzo asked: “Do you prefer to lead or to be lead?”

                Jack snorted. “It doesn’t matter too much to me.”

                “Oh,” Hanzo made an unimpressed face and decided to lead since Jack didn’t seem to bother. And he didn’t. His eyes scanned the area with some concern hidden in their corners—but wasn’t he always concerned? From up close, the remains of his freckles covered his cheeks, and the mask left its traces on his skin. Hanzo counted the most prominent wrinkles on his face while Jack’s eyes traced faces and buildings. Five around his left eye, six on the right.

                Jack noticed soon, his eyes returning in the sway, and they changed from concerned to interested of what the other one reflected on. _Penny for your thoughts._ He didn’t ask, and hoped his look was enough but his company evaded it quickly.

 “What if that person we’re investigating, whomever it is, is someone you knew once?” Hanzo inquired while looking at a bouncing boy. Then he looked at Jack, who was just a wee taller. “Would you still rely on that moral code of yours, or maybe bend some rules to make them fit you, and not fit to them yourself anymore?”

“What a deep question.” Jack chortled. It died and he ruffled his brow. “I do not play by the rules anymore…”

“You keep telling yourself that. I doubt it.”

“And you’re too intelligent—I’m no match for that.” Jack licked his lips nervously and glanced at him with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

“If you were as uneducated as you always indicate, would you have become the poster boy of an organization who protected and saved civilians for years? Planning and leading difficult missions?”

“I wasn’t doing that alone.” Jack focused on the seams of Hanzo’s jacket as though he found the answer there.

“Hm,” Hanzo replied simple. “Still; you aren’t the simpleton you try to make me believe.”

“Thank you. I’m charmed.” Jack showed off amusement. “However, the military is known for its lack of common sense, isn’t it?”

Hanzo laughed. “I wouldn’t know. The only military personnel I have met up close and personal is, in fact, you. So, it’s not a cliché?”

“No.” Jack wrinkled his nose. “Most of the time it’s just a bunch of toddlers playing chess without knowing the rules and act big because they have a few medals. It’s not impressive, it’s tiring.”

“Did you always want to be a soldier?”

“I wanted to be someone else but the farmer’s kid from Indiana. Being a soldier was the only way to see the world from my point of view. I did start as a medic!”

“Impressive.” Hanzo gave him a once-over and lowkey imagined him in a combat medic uniform, for which he mentally scorned himself just a minute later. He blinked and looked away. “If I just faint on the spot, you knew how to use CPR, still?”

“That is not how you flirt.” Jack joked. “It’s inappropriate.”

“Did anyone ever do that? Fake an emergency?”

“Yes.” Jack waded through a couple of memories. “My friend used to ask for medical assistance whenever he had a papercut just so that I would stick a band-aid on his damn _wound._ ”

“Your _friend_?”

“I don’t’ want to talk about it.” Jack grumbled and twisted his lips into a sulk. Hanzo agreed non-verbally and leaned his cheek against Jack’s because that could be comforting. Jack sighed and closed his eyes because it worked. “I didn’t expect you to be a romantic.”

Hanzo raised one of his brows. “I have many hidden talents.”

“I guess I’m the one who is going to need a band-aid then.”

 

 

 

Whenever even the tiniest whiff of a memory arrived on his mind, he needed a while to recover, because every thought was a cut. And since he was the one to cut him, he might bleed forever. Every word which repeated itself inside his mind was a painful reminder on how easily beautiful things can come to pass. Over time, people change and Jack often wondered if, after all, people are still the same person. Sure, the body remained mostly the same. Except that every single little cell is replaced, so is the body we’re born in still the same? When people change, are they still the same person as years ago? Life is development, and infinity is confirmed temporairiness. He could never be the person he was twenty years ago. Jack looked at Hanzo, and maybe it was the same for him? Should he embrace the change or try to avoid it? Was it too late for that?

Back behind the building hosting the semi-public festivity, where tables rested unused, he tried to not focus too much on his hazy mind trying to convince him that a loss was forever to be mourned. He missed the days when he didn’t have to worry about someone else’s feelings because they were right there with him. Now, in oblivion, a shadow from a long-gone era. The feeling was much more intense when one didn’t believe in their death. It used to be comfort, now it was a burden. Instead, he tried focusing on the lips covering his own. What about the other one? Jack halted and thought about that, too. Did he have to ask first? How did that work?

He plopped on the edge of a table with no desires on doing anything himself except for letting happen whatever was about to happen. Sometimes, he wanted to be lazy and lean back. That didn’t seem much, but for him it was an extraordinary thing to accomplish. The lips though were soft and gentle. Enough to distract him for a while. There was one time in his life when he did that kind of thing in public, and at least it was inside a car. Was it still public then?

Before he could find out, the lips vanished and he felt cold. “What if it rains?” He said croaky.

“Then we get wet?” The lips discovered his neck, which he barely felt.

“You don’t say…” Jack tried to look at Hanzo, but he wandered off to the sensitive spot behind his ear, behind shell and hairline. He released a noise close to a purr, to which Hanzo replied with amused chortling. The rest happened without much interference. His hands sloppily rested on Hanzo’s covered arms and he closed his eyes. The leather felt hot under his palms, as the lips on his skin and two hands on his thighs. Like fire, freezing a layer of ice to find life beneath it. The deep blue sea was too fascinating for the archer. He pulled back from the skin to watch the ice melt under his fingers as he traced lines on the ever-changing map which was Jack’s face. Hanzo placed another kiss on his lips before pulling back again and continuing somewhere else without further ado. The belt loosened and Jack inhaled sharply as he laid back on the tabletop. Was he supposed to keep watch at some point? How was he supposed to focus on that? He decided to not care, move his hand down and grab hair instead. His sense of hearing wasn’t the worst—he could sense footsteps?

The hair was as soft and silky as his lips and he didn’t pull it, just snaked through strands looking for some job do to, but the only one doing a job was Hanzo. And he did so quite professionally. Jack wanted to say something but his mouth was to dry, and so he groaned instead. His grip tightened and he accidentally pulled on his hair by reflex, which was when Hanzo slowed down. Just to tease him since it wasn’t his idea to have him go off by that alone. He kept going for a while until he thought it was enough, rose and grabbed Jack’s shirt to pull him into a kiss. His reply was more heated than at first; both of Jack’s hand held his head in position.

“Would you mind turning around?” Hanzo whispered beneath the kiss, but even this volume was as scream in Jack’s ears.

“Would I _mind_?” He replied.

The kiss was persistent, adorned by muffled amusement drowning in desire. Jack rose to sit straight while locked like this, picking on the leather jacket until he pulled it off and tossed it to the ground. He moved off the table against him and kept him guessing for a while. Hanzo opened his eyes just enough to make an educated guess on what he was doing. One hand still on the shirt, the other one’s fingers dug into his shoulder, trying to force any kind of decision out so he could deal with whatever it was. It didn’t take much longer until he turned around and made some room on the table by carelessly shoving everything aside. One bowl fell to the ground.

Hanzo’s chest leaned close into his back, his face buried in his neck just to inhale the scent of his skin. He moved back and both hands dropped and snuck under the shirt. The cotton was damp, warm, and easily pushed up. Beginning half-way on the spine and travelling down in an exhaustingly slow pace, he felt a few scattered scars. Here and there, one or two, until there were none anymore. While he did so, he blindly searched for his jacket and fumbled with the content of a pocket. Hanzo pushed the pants down, enough to gain access and cared to make the upcoming event easier. Sometime later, he was back on top, nuzzling his neck. Jack looked for his arm and pulled one around, under his chest, holding tight onto his hand. Hanzo moved back up to assure himself of Jack’s comfort and entered slow and steady with his arm still captive to Jack’s hand. Pulled back down, he changed from careful first steps to something faster and harder since there wasn’t much time to waste in public. It reminded him on a wicked kind of hide and seek, betting on his dignity because being found with a naked ass wasn’t exactly what he desired. There was something else he wanted, and so he increased speed a little bit more and tried to push the right buttons.

Because the game was so daring, it became a lot more lustful and demanding than any other occasion would have made him feel. Jack’s hand reached his thigh in a smack and he squeezed it tight. Did he mean he had to go faster? Hanzo grunted gently and moved deeper; as he did, he nodded his eyes up in pleasure and his teeth found Jack’s neck. He nibbled on the skin and eventually bit down carefully when his own pace was too fast for him. Jack’s hand on his held tight, like a thread as though he was going to remind him who was in charge here, and that amused Hanzo. Truth be told: they both were, hence why both enjoyed that too much. Hanzo’s free hand trailed down between his thighs and kissed his shoulder as Jack moved in rhythm along his palm.

The realization that Hanzo fucked an American, or even international, legend—a myth people loved to remember— came when the back below him pressed against his chest because he forgot to move fast enough. Instead of speed though, his intensity went up to which Jack replied with haunting moans. He understood that he liked that and kept going until he noticed the influence on himself and his partner. The moans became louder and the croaky, while Hanzo hid his mouth in the curve of Jack’s neck, avoiding the creation of more noise that could lure people out here. After a while though, he stopped caring and pushed him against the table as if that would help. He pulled his hand out of the grip and instead interlocked his fingers with Jack’s. Just a moment later and he tensed up once, abruptly jerked into him twice and whined against his neck. He caught his breath and the grip on his thigh loosened. Jack’s hand searched for his arm and forced him to stay there until he was given the same privilege, which didn’t take long. Once they were both satisfied, Hanzo pulled him his pants and the one of his partner. Jack turned around too fast for that and kissed him with unexpected fervor. Hanzo fastened the belt while being kissed and he felt breathless.

 

 

 

 

                When the day passed, a little red streak along the horizon remembered of a nigh to come. Fireflies danced in the air, crickets played the music for the late-night endeavors. Jesse tried to find the hare in the field but nothing was there except for the insects. His elated feeling came to pass as fast as the day went by, and too many studies left him behind in a numb state of mind. As though he searched for something inside an empty house, but couldn’t find it and so he kept strolling around. It was an empty building with no furniture and no light because the windows were barricaded. Papers with handwritten words covered the floor, here and there a memory he ignored and stepped on.

                Jesse inhaled slow and deep, let his eyes capture the scenery one more time, and then he returned to where he belonged: a cage of rules and expectations. It was the same moment as when Jack returned with a face flushed red and tousled hair. Jesse could see the enormous blush because his forehead was red, as well. He wondered who people thought that he was. Jesse liked the dress up and that little bit of mystery he carried around. For a moment did he lose his possessive anxiety, and his heart beat a little faster, his palms became a little sweatier. Did he have to greet him?

                He did not need to do so, since Jack approached him with respectful caution. Few steps before he stopped, looking at the field instead of at Jesse who faced his shoulder and glanced at his face unabashed, hidden behind the visor. The fireflies caught his attention and he watched him with childlike joy.

                “Are you alright?” Jack asked him.

                _What a loaded question_ , Jesse thought with distain toward it. “I think so.”

                “Hm,” Jack nodded and his eyes snuck at Jesse’s face, “you think so.”

                Jesse growled and planned to move ahead so he could avoid any further investigations, but Jack moved to the side, stood in his way and his shoulder bumped into Jesse’s chest.

                “Please don’t do that.” Jesse whispered, looking down. “And don’t tell me that you’re sorry, either.”

                Jack gave in and nudged Jesse’s hand with his finger, then he grabbed and squeezed it quick before heading off first. _Please don’t leave, though._

                Just lying there, watching the lights on the ceiling with interest; faraway noises danced in the air and they got stuck in his ears. Passing lights of vehicles and the white lamps. The moon’s reflected sunlight drowned and the stars glistened shy. Jesse affirmed himself of Jack remaining awake. The rosy blush departed and his face’s skin returned to its usual color. He, too, traced the lights and the scar across his face seemed darker and gloomier than normal. Jesse urged to talk and swallowed dry, addressing a topic he preferred to avoid.

                “Do you sometimes think that he is still alive?” He whispered. A vehicle passed.

                Jack interlocked fingers on his chest and breathed heavy. “I did for a long time. That’s why I’m here: I thought I’d find him somewhere in this city. Years passed and I got lost between pursuing this foolish goal of finding any trace of him and the people I started to care for.” Of course, he knew whom Jesse meant. “Now I don’t know what I want to believe anymore.”

                “I don’t believe in ghosts myself.” Jesse grumbled.

                “Don’t you?”

                “I wonder what it would be like if he was still alive. Which of all the things would have happened anyway?”

                “That’s too deep for me. I prefer to not think about that kind of thing.” Jack smiled poignant and closed his eyes. “Sometimes, memories are good, and sometimes they just make shit worse. I wish that I could bury mine.”

                Jack seemed tired, and so Jesse let him relax and drift off into any kind of dream. What would he think about before falling asleep? The day? Something that happened long ago? He listened to his labored breath and how it slowly faded into a calm, gentle sound.

                Jesse wanted to smoke before attempting a try at sleeping for himself, though he wasn’t ever good at it. He snuck out of the bed and picked up his bad-behavior-tools. Playing with the pack in his hand, he walked out of the room and came across a living obstacle who just rose his hand. It dropped and Jesse met a slightly embarrassed face. The right corner of Hanzo’s mouth dropped.

                “Can’t sleep either?” Jesse asked.

                “That’s not it.” Hanzo’s reply was monotone. A break gathered a few sensations and his voice caught few emotions, making it sound melodic. He glanced across Jesse toward the room behind him and saw the guest. Now his lips twirled. “I wanted you to know that I’ve spent some time with him today.”

                “I know.” Jesse said, and while he pointed at their shared working hours, he also hinted at the other things they might have or haven’t done.

                “Impressive.” Hanzo looked back at his face. “You’re not annoyed?”

                “Why would I be annoyed?”

                Hanzo found that peculiar, as anything really, but this was particularly interesting.

                “Is that why you came here?” Jesse crossed his arms; the cigarette pack buried under his arm. “My bed is big enough for three people, you know.”

                “Hm,” Hanzo’s eyes left the face and traced something else. _Your bed? But how about your heart?_

                Jesse sighed and took a step back, keeping the door open that way and offering a gap big enough for him to pass through. Smoking was irrelevant out of a sudden. Hanzo was reluctant at first, then cautiously slinking pass him into the room. The nightly lights painted the room in beautiful colors. It looked like an ambient photograph with the city’s skyline in the background. The door closed behind him while he marveled at the view. Jesse put the cigarettes back down and lay down on the bed.

                Hanzo crunched his nose. “May I sleep in the middle?”

                “Sure.” Jesse chortled. He watched Hanzo approach and place himself between the two of them. The mattress gave in to the added weight and Jesse took the opportunity to use the man as a body pillow, since he appeared in need of a little hugging. Not much later, Jesse became drowsy and he thought about a lot of things before his mind succumbed to Neverland.

 

 

* * *

 

 

                _I remember that smile you wore on your face the first time we met outside a business meeting of any kind. There, below the cherry blossom trees. You moved off the park bench and that smile, it filled me with guilt for doing this out of spite. The way you pushed your glasses up by the bridge with just one finger, while they didn’t need adjustment, told me you truly were nervous meeting me here. Not because you feared something, but because you were excited and anticipating a good day. Or failure in trying to impress me, but you never failed to impress me. The latter I understood when I listened for too long to your life stories, and you’ve had plenty. While a man might have touched me once or twice in an emotional way, never did the stories do the same. And that voice of yours lingers on my mind to this day, and the sound of your heart breaking was akin to the sound of glass shattering on marble tiles. I picked up the shards, and the sharp edges cut right through my palms. I watched myself bleed and bemoaned your weary departure._

_Now, whenever I see cherry blossom trees, and people’s smiles that speak of devotion of any form or kind, I become anxious and look at my scarred hands, because nothing is more painful than seeing someone else aching for what I did. Love is ship adrift in a stormy sea, and I stand at the helm but I am not a seaman._


	11. The Wolf, the Jackal, and the Lion rest under a red sky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack has to make an important decision, Jesse meets an old friend, and Hanzo tries to overcome personal struggles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! :)
> 
> I hope you like it. There isn't much uncomfortable content except for the usual mentions of depression and ptsd.

 

> “I have this strange feeling that I’m not myself anymore. It’s hard to put into words, but I guess it’s like I was fast asleep, and someone came, disassembled me, and hurriedly put me back together again. That sort of feeling.”
> 
> \-- Haruki Murakami
> 
>  

 

When you sleep alone, you often think to yourself: why am I sleeping alone? The silence suffocates and the emptiness next to you asks you if you aren’t worth anybody’s time. You lie down and keep wondering, wondering for hours, wondering for nights and days and yet, there will never be a conclusion. The reason for an empty half of your bed is just that there are too many thoughts about why the bed is empty, and not how you could change the emptiness of the bed. And that does not always mean you must woo anyone. Get a dog. Then, the bed is not empty anymore and instead, a dog is a warm and perfect pillow. Love is not a one-dimensional concept.

         Hanzo always thought it was such a thing. He believed that his mother cared for him because it was required. Later he found it that it was not so, and that she truly loved him, and that day, when he was seventeen years old, he found out that she loved him. He rose and scanned the area for something to read, as he was not yet ready to get up, and neither to continue sleeping. He lacked a reason for getting up anyway since he had the day off duty. Whatever that meant.

         The left side was empty, where Jesse had slept, or tried to, before. Next to the spot, a book rested on the nightstand. Hanzo shrugged and picked it up. He lay back down and started reading with squinted eyes since his sight this close was rather awful.

         Someone next to him groaned, and upon waking up, groaned louder until he rolled from back to side, facing Hanzo with closed eyes. Jack didn’t sleep very peacefully. He was a restless sleeper, someone who would wake up one hour later, roll around, and try to fall asleep again. Hanzo knew what that was like, which is why he tended to read before sleeping: it calmed his mind oftentimes, although not always. Jack’s head was too wild for that.

         “Bad dreams?” Hanzo asked while reading. The gentle voice opened Jack’s eyes and he tried to find out what time it was—a typical thing for him to be doing. As though he was going to miss out on something, or being late on something, or forgetting about someone.

         “Hmph,” Jack replied weary.

         “Do you want me to read to you?” Hanzo kept asking without looking up ̶ that would have been way too close, and openly showing that he cared for someone was tricky enough for his trapped soul.

         Jack chuckled low, not knowing how to answer to that question. He didn’t even know if he was truly awake, or if this all was just a dream. He rolled around once more, but in vertical position, and his head moved onto Hanzo’z chest. Or: right below it, between stomach and chest. He’d often do that with Gabriel when he was reading and Jack was just about to fall asleep. The sounds of his breath and the heartbeat always calmed him down. Hanzo scoffed amused and used Jack’s head as a book-leaning, while the now free hand rubbed Jack’s back. His back was cold and wet; a spot reminded of chaotic, frightening scenes.

         The door opened and Jesse entered with a tray, quite clumsily, placing it down on the nightstand without yet noticing the missing book. He looked at them with some curiosity.

         “Someone experienced bad dreams.” Hanzo said dry, not glancing at Jesse who joined them and added his weight on top of both. As though he impersonated a blanket and stripped it off its only purpose when he covered Jack, who seemed to have fallen asleep again.

         “What am I to do with you two?” Hanzo muttered, still reading.

         “You could admire us.”

         “Huh,” Hanzo lowered the hand. “You smell as if you haven’t showered in ten days and I’m supposed to admire you?”

         Jesse’s brows knit together and he sniffed on his armpits. “That is not true.” He protested and found the book in Hanzo’s hand. He tried to snatch it out of the grip. “Why are you reading this?”

         “Why not?” Hanzo avoided the attempted catches, and turned the book around and spied at the back to read the description. _There was nothing wrong with Jane Austen._

         “It’s a romance novel.” Jesse treated himself with a sip of coffee instead of covering Jack.

         “Such a simple man sometimes.” Hanzo replied. His brow arched under both amusement and judgement. Jesse growled like a stray dog kicked off his food by another. “I’m not simple.”

 

 

 

If he were simple, he would find no difficulty following Liliana’s command and join her with less anxiety and more confidence. Whenever she called someone into her office, she had good reason to. Now, she stood there in dark blue. Her arms crossed, folded on her white shirt. Her jaw clenched as he joined the room, staring outside the window above her head. Jesse wasn’t much taller than her, just enough to avoid her compelling black eyes. Liliana’s arms untangled and her hands moved into the pockets of her pants.

         “I wanted to talk to about something.” She spoke in her usual cool tone. No matter how cold, though, there always remained some warmth. She didn’t give him the opportunity to ask or add anything. “I monitored you over the past weeks and concluded that a little vacation is in order. You seem very agitated.”

         Jesse laughed. A short and sardonic laugh meant to show disapproval. He looked down at her eyes. “You want me off that case, don’t you?”

         Liliana’s eyes narrowed and she tilted her head. She understood his devotion and his anger. “I don’t. What I want is that you take a break.” Liliana watched him lick his lips and look away. She rose her hands and placed one on each of his shoulders. “All that won’t help you, it will just confuse you. Take a step back and let the other two continue while you can find some rest.”

         Jesse didn’t want to reply and give her more reason to force him off duty. Her hands fell to her sides. “Do me a favor and see the doc, as well. Just a check-up. That’s it. I don’t think you’ve got any more questions, Jesse?”

         He gave her look and she nodded. “Alright, then.”

         Jesse opened his mouth and closed it again. There wasn’t much to say anyway. He cleared his throat and turned around to walk the same way he came in. _See the doc,_ he thought, _I’d rather not._ Him not wanting to see had nothing to do with his distinct feelings toward medical institutions. He rolled his eyes and glanced back across his shoulders. If he wasn’t going to see the doc now, she would find a way to force him seeing her tomorrow.

         He sighed and made his way to the medical wing, where people hustled lazy, for a lack of recent happenings, and focused on the latest rumors. Jack’s identity was unknown to most. The staff involved with the incident weeks ago were forced to silence. A contract people were bound to. As long as it was necessary to keep this secret, and Liliana believed in its importance as much as Jack, so it seemed. Jesse did not understand. The lights made his head hurt and he entered the doctor’s office without knocking or any other formal procedure. The assistant popped his head out of his nook and gave him a once-over.

         “McCree,” He judged him. Jesse rolled on his feet. “Good to see you again. Been a while.” Naheer looked back and returned to his cave. His voice remained predominant. “Are you here for your check-up which was due three weeks ago?”

         “Yeah.”

         “You should really get your clock checked.” Naheer continued judging him before contacting the doc, and after a while, he received a reply. His brows rose; Jesse wondered why. “You may go head. She’s waiting.”

         “That was quick.” Jesse expected a new appointment a few days ahead. Naheer didn’t say more and Jesse just went through a small hallway until he reached a brightly lit room with too many tools of which he didn’t want to know the purpose of.

         “It’s good to see you again, and in one piece.” A voice came from somewhere and it felt like he was being shot right into his stomach. He winced and searched for the face, hoping that he was hallucinating. Jesse found the speaker and he was not hallucinating in the end. His heart pounded faster and something got stuck in his throat. Angela paced around the table and pointed at the examination table.

         “I’m fine.” He said dry. What was she doing here? Angela cocked a brow and inspected his face with characteristic intensity. “Uh huh.”

         Then she chuckled and made him sit down. Knowing for the most part of her life, she immediately understood whenever something bothered him. Right now, he was anxious for some reason and Angela was eager to find out why.

         “I thought that you were stationed in Spain?” He spoke and his voice cracked.

         “They sent me here. Apparently, there’s a shortcoming of doctors since they sent Dr. Ubani away. Which I find strange.” She ruffled her nose as she examined him and the scanner irritated Jesse.

         “Good to see you, though.” He sweat.

         A smile appeared on her lips, they curled, and she leant back to have a good look at Jesse—he looked so damn uncomfortable. Reason for this was, unbeknownst to her, that her and Jack once shared a close friendship. Since they both began at medical, they have been close ever since; almost as close as he was to Ana. Nothing could compare to this particular relationship, but Angela and Jack once had a special bond. How could Jesse lie to her? If she wasn’t here, that problem would have never arisen, and he could have not worried about it. Now, she stood before him and he wanted to die.

         “So,” Angela tried to lighten the mood. Although she did the exact opposite. “I heard you were working with this vigilante from the streets of Dorado.” Her arched brow quivered in interest. “What is he like in person?”

         “I don’t know. We barely talk.” He wished he could faint on command.

         “I have heard he is American.” Angela examined his arm and if tissue was showing concerning changes. 

         “There are many rumors.” He replied with an impatient frown. He hated being examined since he could remember, it made him feel like a victim and he hated feeling like one. It was not a kind of weakness, but a kind of submissiveness that caused this level of discomfort in him.

         “That is true. Funny how his file is restricted, I mean I wo—“

         “Look. This is highly confidential. I can’t talk about it.”

         Angela shoved her left and under her folded, right arm. The right index finger tapped her lips. “Okay.”

         “Don’t look at me like that.” He replied. “I can’t share anything, okay. Request personal involvement if you want to know it so bad, though I doubt it is that easy.”

         Angela sighed. “I’m just curious. It’s a thing for the area I’m from… a village. Everyone knew what the other one was doing.”

         “Go watch some telenovelas then.”

         Angela’s frown intensified and she smacked his shoulder.

         Jesse stood and rubbed the spot absentminded. “What. They aren’t so bad. Good morning entertainment. Makes you use your brain less, which I love doing. Are we done here?”

         Angela started laughing and raised her hands to cup his face in both hands. “I missed you, you little grumpy shit.”

         He nodded his eyes up. Why did everyone believe that touching him would make anything better? She kissed his cheek and let go off him. “Now,” She said. “Take care of yourself. Think about your sleep routine.”

“Yes, mom.” He mumbled. Anxiety still covered him in sweat, his ears tingled, his stomach turned, and his face was hot. Jesse wanted to run away as fast as possible. This vacation thing wasn’t so bad, because he could board a flight to Iceland and wait for everything to resolve without him. Iceland was nicely located for the impact the moment would have when Angela would find out that Jack was still alive.

         Jesse wanted to avoid that.

         He doubted she wasn’t here because they needed a doctor, and while she was one of the best in the field, there were plenty of options so what was his supervisor playing? Was she trying to force him to come out and reveal who he is, invalidating his former opinion? _A vacation surely will do wonders._

         Jesse didn’t want her to notice him ignoring her commands and he waited outside, smoking one cigarette after another, until Jack eventually showed up for his new-found duty. Jack’s hair was still damp from the shower and it glistened in the sun. Entered the room and Jesse was following him on swift feet. Jack reacted surprised by the stealthy moves and let the door close behind them. He freed his face and placed the visor on the table.

         “I’m on forced leave.” Jesse explained.

         “Hm,” Jack’s eyes grazed on his face before he looked down. He knew very well what that meant. “Why?”

         “Apparently, I’m too stressed.” Jesse stood at a screen because the repetitive movements calmed him down.

         “Which isn’t so inaccurate.” Jack said. Jesse blinked his eyes annoyed and stared at the blinking dots. Jack joined him and looked at the same moving dots. “If you won’t take a rest yourself, people will force you to it. While that isn’t always a good idea, neither is a burnout.”

         “Going back to old Jack, aren’t ya?” Jesse’s worn out mind retorted to a thick accent. “A little bit of life advice, some patronizing, with a hint of _I know better because I’m old._ ”

         Jack snorted.

         Both marveled at the pictures before them and Jesse chewed on his lip until his grinding teeth drew blood. He wiped it off with his thumb and kept licking the spot until the taste disappeared. Jack’s posture didn’t change and Jesse nudged Jack’s shoulder with his.

         “Try to not get hit because your new doctor will be Angela Ziegler.”

         Jack’s under-eye muscles tensed and his teeth clicked. Discontent. He taught himself to not show much emotion when things didn’t feel right to avoid further confrontation. Jesse knew his tricks. So, he continued. “Don’t you think it would take a lot of pressure off your shoulders if you just dropped that whole ‘mysterious vigilante’ thing?”

         Jack remained silent until Jesse’s eyes drilled through his skull. “People won’t forget. I don’t want to be associated with that anymore.”

         “Sooner or later, they will find out. Don’t you think, besides being angry of course, that she might be happy to find out that you’re alive?”

         “Hm,” Jack chuckled weak and looked down. “Back then, I never thought anyone would miss me. Or be particularly saddened by my death. Another man gone, doesn’t matter. Hence why I never gave it much thought.”

         Jesse listened to the soft voice and inhaled sharp because it roused old feelings which he didn’t want to feel. His voice was whisper itself. “I missed you. A lot of people missed you.”

         Jack nodded his chin. What a surprising thing to notice such an amount of self-doubt in a person people believed represented the epitome of confidence. “I always liked you very much, Jack, and so did others.” Jesse added. _But different. I liked you, too, but different._ He added, as he kept adding since he was in his twenties. He remembered Gabriel’s side-eye whenever he looked at Jack, or talked about him, and that made him nervous. Jesse bit his lip again.

         Jack faced him. “Thank you, but that won’t change much.” He paused and fumbled with his fingers before he quit doing so. “Enjoy your short vacation, even if it is forced. You deserve some time to yourself.”

         Jesse tried to smile and it felt as if he was going to lose him again, and it could be his head trying to cause paranoia, or a sudden whiff of melancholia taking over. He moved his hand up to pull him into a sudden, devoted kiss. Jack didn’t mind; neither the force nor the faint taste of blood.

         In the middle of the kiss, the door opened, introducing a new visitor and Liliana cleared her throat. Jesse opened his eyes and slowly drew back form the kiss. Jack rose his brows and peeked at her. _Oops._

         “I know,” Jesse frowned and stomped past her. “I’m on vacation.”

         Liliana watched him go and focused on Jack. The door shut. They were alone. Jack’s lips twirled in mischievous joy because he found that funny. It wasn’t the first time that a supervisor found him kissing a fellow soldier. She noticed the suffocated grin because his cheeks tightened.

         “I don’t care,” she said. “As long as you don’t fuck on the damn table.”

         He gave her a look.

         Liliana breathed in. “I haven’t seen anything; but I don’t want this to influence the work we're doing. It's not the first time something like this happens.”

         “Don’t worry.” Jack replied and leaned against the tabletop behind him. “What I worry about though is the plan behind bringing Ziegler here. Is that a part of your plan to reveal that Jack Morrison isn’t dead?”

         Liliana’s eyes shifted from casual to suspicious. “I see that news spread fast.”

         “If you are going to pull anything like that, I’ll be gone, and you can find some other fucking story to tell that you’ll think make people take this godforsaken shitpile of an organization serious.”

         Jack disliked being taken advantage of, and being blackmailed in any way. Liliana continued her cool performance, which was for the better since Jack's temper heated up enough already.

         “That wasn’t my idea; even though I still believe that lying to people isn’t the best way to avoid conflict. It’s hiding from responsibilities. You have nothing to fear except for questions you might already have asked yourself.”

         “And a higher risk for everyone involved.”

         “Stop using this to make yourself comfortable. It’s bullshit. The people who want to know who you are, in fact, know who the fuck you are already. You might look like a lot of other men of your type, but your face has been seen by millions, too.”

         “Are you calling me bland?” He joked deadpan.

         She puckered her lips and shrugged with crossed arms. “It doesn’t matter. Keeping up with that vigilante shit won’t be good for anyone. I’m not going to force you, but you might want to consider revealing that you’re not dead. We can spin a little story of amnesia for everyone else. Avoids tricky questions.”

         “You’re not forcing me but you’re telling me that I have no other choice?”

         “It saddens me to inform you that…. You’re right.”

         Jack grunted.

         “You can leave if you want to, thought I don’t believe that this will make it easier.”

         “Would you mind giving me a second?” He asked polite, and the tone implied that he was anything but feeling calm.

         “Sure.” She replied in the same voice and moved out the room. Once outside, she checked the time and tapped her fingers on her upper arms. Inside, Jack just stood there, inhaling, and exhaling. This was exactly what he feared. He should have never tried to save Jesse’s ass several times, but if he didn’t do it, would he have felt bad for it?

He would have hated himself for it.

 

 

 

 

_Don’t go in there, someone is angry._ Hanzo remembered that from the days that his father was angry and he wasn’t supposed to get in there and face him because most of his anger found its way and hit him. He knew how to handle it from someone he secretly despised, because to hate his parent openly was a disgrace and anything but honorable, so wouldn’t be much of a task to do so with someone he liked. _Why are you so angry?_ He thought as he saw Jack with a red face, both hands pushing against a table top, he stood bent over, his chest heaving. Just like a lion, angered, shot in the leg but not wounded enough to submit. Hanzo stood there in silence and let the lion breathe. The wolf was no threat to him.

         And after a few minutes, Jack inhaled with a grimace. He was everything but calm, no matter how easy his face looked like. “Every fucking time,” He said low. His voice was like faraway thunder. The wind carried it over and when you watched it coming closer, the tenser you became. The lightning struck and then, the thunder came rolling. It was loud and terrifying to some, but not life threating. Just a noise.

         “Every fucking time someone tells me what it is I have to fucking do to save something I don’t give a shit about. I don’t care if this fucking building explodes, I don’t care about fucking Talon. Yet, here I am. ‘You have to do this, Morrison, because otherwise, people will suffer.’” Jack stood tall. When Liliana returned to the room, his voice roared back at her, telling her to leave him alone. Hanzo listened without speaking until Jack paused.

         “But you do care. Otherwise you wouldn’t be here.” He waited for a response. Hanzo knew that kind of anger.

         Jack scoffed. Was it true? Did he ever care? “I don’t want to care anymore. Everything was my fault, rightfully so, because I thought everything was my damn problem to solve. I made it all about me, no matter what. I took this, I took that, tried to solve it, ruined it. Everything I ever fucking tried to do? Never worked out. I lead this godforsaken group of people into a feud with someone else, they die. Now I’m supposed to do to the same thing: this or that. Decide. I won’t blame you, but you’ll be responsible for the consequences, even if it is just living with them.” He looked at Hanzo, not aware that Liliana was still waiting outside. “Now, I’m making this all about myself again.” He fake-laughed. “How are you?”

         “I’m good.” Hanzo said calm and walked over to touch Jack’s arm. He was afraid of electrocuting himself, but nothing happened. Jack’s nude arm was cold, the muscles tensed up and movement under his palm implied ongoing unrest.

         Jack’s face was red from anger and his eyes from unwanted memories, triggers that brought back pictures he learned to hate. A simple word, a tone of voice. He looked like he needed a hug, or a new life outside all of that. Jack’s voice was hoarse from the continued overuse. “You know,” he said. “I have done so much for everyone, I thought this would be enough. Apparently, it is never enough, is it?”

         “Fate has a strange kind of humor.” Hanzo replied. “Do what you want to do. I guess there are always consequences, no matter what.”

         “What would you do if someone you believed to be dead showed up out of nowhere?”

         It wasn’t a real question, more of a hypothesis. Hanzo’s sneer cut the air in half. It was bitter and sharp. “What do you think I did?”

         Jack closed his eyes for a second. “I’m sorry.”

         “Don’t be. It isn’t your fault, is it now? Do you want to sit here and pity yourself, or do you want to do something? Do you want to leave or stay here?”

         “I don’t know what I want.”

         Hanzo beheld him as though he cracked a bad joke and that impatient stare made Jack feel even worse, although it wasn’t intentional. They had too much in common in their own way. Orange light danced on Jack's profile and Hanzo touched them without much afterthought. The caress of dancing fingertips sent shivers down his spine, and Jack quivered. Hanzo's hand rested on his shoulder, and the warmth spread through his body like fire.

         “Now,” Hanzo said, “all will be well, little lamb. Give yourself some time to think.”

_Little lamb._ Jack looked up at the screens. A poignant smile ascended and he touched the hand on his shoulder, lying there, it harvested the heat from the hand below it.

         “Do you ever take care of yourself?” Jack asked unabashed.

         “I did so all my life.” Hanzo's hand left and the spot was as cold as before. “What are you afraid of? People demanding that you'll have to take on the same responsibilities?”

         “It's all too much. I have no idea.”

         “I do not think that they wanted you back in your former position. It's all about tactics and scheming a powerful plot against an enemy who isn't impressed by anything they do.” Hanzo kept looking at Jack's face from where he stood, leaning back against the table with crossed arms. “You can run, but something tells me you don't want to.”

         “You know,” Jack's lips thinned. Hanzo rose a brow because of that phrase. “There used to be a time when I was afraid of dying. It followed me every single day when I left the barracks. I saw it on the faces of soldiers with fatal wounds, I saw it on civilians' faces who didn't deserve that pain since they haven't done anything wrong. Then, I stopped being scared and just started to hate death, before its influence on me became entirely irrelevant. Then my face blew up. I didn't think I'd survive this. I did almost die, you know, it wasn't even staged.”

         “I always wondered what happened that day,” Hanzo, curious, shifted on his feet, “out of curiosity. People came up with the funniest stories.”

         “Hm,” Jack sighed and sat down on a chair. “I don't even know myself. I thought I knew, but apparently nothing of that was true and so I spent years trying to find out. All led to dead ends.”

         “Then you must make the decision to either stay, or leave.”

         Jack wanted to leave, but where would he go? He mentally browsed through forged ID's and tried to figure out a destination based on names and birth dates. That used to be his approach: where would he go? Pick a name. The same spiel for years and years until someone frowned at him in confusion. Then he'd pick a different identity and just continue. He looked back at Hanzo and these two eyes blessed him with a strange sense of optimism. Jack remembered how Ana told him once to not hide forever, to come back whenever the time is right, because the world needs heroes. Although he wasn't a hero anymore, if he ever was one, and the words of hers were weak and nothing but echoes of her actual voice. What was he supposed to do?

         “The only reason I came back here for is because of a friend. I couldn't care less about the rest.” Jack whispered and he suddenly noticed how harsh these words sounded toward his conversational partner over there. Even though Hanzo didn't want to show it, but the little twitch on his face made it obvious.

         “I didn't mean it like that.” Jack tried to make up for it.

         “If it is all worth nothing to you, then why are you still here?” Hanzo nodded to himself since the silence affirmed him of his presumptions. “No matter how much you're trying to tell me you aren't giving a damn, you do. That's why you're here: because something matters to you, disregarding how much you hated the job you've had until five years ago.”

         Hanzo looked at him and there still lay uncertainty on his face, hidden underneath wrinkles of a ruffled brow. “Don't worry.” He said. “I will protect you.”

         Jack snickered. What a sweet thing to say. How could he defy this?

 

 

 

Silence is a great skill: one who is smart is silent, one who is cunning is silent, one who is mannered is silent. But also one who is dead is silent. With silence comes darkness, and with darkness comes oblivion. Jack liked living in oblivion. He swam the waves of a forgotten sea, the moonlight made the water glisten, some fish tickled his soles, and the water cooled down his hot body. Nothing in these waters caused fear, or troubled him for any other reason. Some memories swam ashore and rested there, and nothing would stay for long. It was nothing but a dream. _Is all that we see or seem nothing but a dream within a dream?_ Jack watched some nurses shuffle about. They eyed him, some did more than just _eyeing_ him, they _oogled_ him. Some nurse smacked the arm of his friend and whispered something like _that guy, you know who, I wonder if he –_ then Jack stopped listening and walked on. The march was slow and steady, at least it seemed that way because Jack was unsure and just wanted to rather jump off a cliff.

         He checked the room number and knocked at the door, a voice allowed him entry and it was a man with pretty curls and big brown eyes looking at him. He was either awestruck or condescending, Jack couldn't decide which described his look more fitting. “Can I help you?” His voice rolled at him. Jack pointed to the door on his right.

         “I would like to speak to doctor Ziegler. Privately. It's urgent?”

         “Sure,” He said. “If she is there.” The assistant twirled on his chair and checked if Angela found herself in the right mood to check on a _petty criminal._ He puckered his lips and waited for her response, which took a while. Jack watched him in silence. Naheer didn't like that and watched him out of the corner of his eyes. Jack crossed his arms and kept sneaking glances at the assistant, who became uncomfortable because he couldn't see his whole face.

         “Guys like you make me very uncomfortable.” Naheer muttered.

         “Why? You like older men?” Jack cracked a joke deadpan and Naheer's ears turned deep purple. Naheer cleared his throat and nervously watched his pad. “No.”

         Jack nodded his chin and let the fingers of his right hand dance on the left bicep. Naheer breathed heavy, a sign of annoyance. Jack noticed the increased heart rate, because why would he not check that. He didn't know he could make people nervous, still. In such a way. How uplifting. Why did people found such excitement in masked people with a dubious reputation? Was that a modern kink? Jack thought about that a lot.

         People always kind of became thirsty about whatever they liked to address with heroes or anything familiar to that.

         “She is ready to see you, sir.” Naheer said without looking up-- how defiant.

         Jack only grunted and loosened his arms as he walked on. He felt Naheer glancing at him and Jack almost wanted to turn around, but he thought to let it go and just prepare himself for something he never wanted to do. After all these years, he wondered, would she care? He didn't know if Ana might have told her since he hasn't spoken to Ana in 3 years, and she herself might believed he was dead eventually.

         Angela turned around, coffee in her hand, a constipated smile on her lips. “What can I do for you?”

         Was he sure? “I wanted to tell you this in person before you hear it from someone else... In case that didn't already occur.” He said, and Angela took a sip of her coffee with a suspiciously wrinkled nose. That didn't change, she still did that thing whenever she thought, or suspected, or became irritated. Jack fumbled to take off his visor, with which he struggled since a mix of anxiety and anticipation shook his hands.

         The moment he took it off and looked up with her was bedded in silence. A short silence, pregnant with all kinds of thoughts and planned words to say, but the whole script disbanded in the air like mist on a sunny morning as ceramic shattered on the floor. Angela dropped her mug because she was speechless, and her hand gave up under a weakening shock. Now, all the words returned and tension made the air crack. She frowned and stepped closer. A slap struck his face. Not a violent one. A slap to wake you up, and he deserved that slap not matter its intention. Her lips thinned and then her hands searched for his face and they rested on both sides.

         “You didn't die?” Was all she said. “Why did you make me believe that you were dead, when you are very much alive?” She sounded angry and he didn't know how to reply. He always pondered about how he would react if he found out someone did not die as he believed and held him for a fool. For years. At the same time did she seem relieved, and maybe a little bit nervous herself. They stood there, both nervous and too afraid to speak.

         “I don't know.” He replied short.

         Then her hands dropped and she hugged him as one hugged a child, after not having seen that child for a long time. Jack just went with it, he had no idea what else there was he could do. Tell her he was sorry? Was he sorry? Did he feel remorse? The only thing he felt bad about was that he made this all about himself again.

         “How are you?” He spoke against her shoulder, where his head was half buried into.

         “How dare you ask me that?”

 

 

 

The skies were dark blue and divided from soil by a yellow line. The sun set and rose somewhere else. Crickets bemoaned a cold breeze from sea as a hare wiggled its ears and sniffed the whiff of northern wind. The hare hopped and twirled before it ran off into the grass fields. Clouds passed the moon in slow motion, carried onward by a lazy blow, pulled across the dark canvas by the hand of a patient painter. The repetitive sound of the brush across the fabric became louder with every stroke and Jesse frowned. He looked at the painter with his easel over there, painting the nightly skyline. An old man; older than most of the people in here. Older than the chair he sat on, and that thing was easily 80 years old. His skin folded in wrinkled like old parchment paper. A story, vellum-bound only for those to read who understood ancient tongues.

         Jesse looked at his drink and focused on the strokes; suddenly, they didn't hurt anymore. The terrace of this establishment was on the empty side this night, and he thought that could be because Tuesdays tended to be quiet. Locals went wild with the latest news as he overheard: the man who helped them, and whom they have helped in return, was _that guy_. Jesse ignored it. Two days off and things had changed so rapidly that he didn't feel like belonging anymore. Everything has become an estranged mess and he sat in the middle. A painting of Van Gogh's. A one-eared man staring at him with screaming eyes. Jesse twirled the drink and rested his head on his fist, closed his eyes, and exhaled through his nose. That was his sixth, and he couldn't care less.

         For Hanzo it was his first, because he wouldn't drink too much. These days were over. And the skyline was too beautiful to ignore due to a drunk stupor. He held the cup up in his palm and looked through the glass and liquid toward the clouds. That was something he kept doing as a kid: stare at the sky through a glass of water. Everything appeared obscure and mysterious that way, and Hanzo had a thing for that.

         The last rays of sun broke through the window's glass and lit Jack's face as he read a note on the first page of a book. Curved, artistic handwriting; the writer had a naturally beautiful talent with that. Jack remembered the hands and smiled to himself. He put his elbow on the tabletop and rested his cheek against his knuckles. Heavy, his head. The book was a birthday present: it was January 5th, the day after his actual birthday, and Gabriel came back from some place warm. The snow got caught in his curly hair, which had grown out, and he gave him the present with a mischievous smile. Jack rubbed his eyes and closed the book. He felt like a liar, and wondered if he still had his heart, because he kept hurting people. Jack ran his hands across his stubbly face and left the desk, the book rested there like a monument of forgotten days.

         He walked on and stopped at a wide window. The entire wall was made of glass and he pushed his hands into his pockets, his toes stubbing the glass, his nose and forehead pressed against it as though he was a child. What a privilege to stand here in freedom without that mask on his face. His breath clouded the glass but he didn't care. Jack saw movements reflected on the glass behind him; people passed by, probably wondering why an old man like he was one acted like this.

         “Congratulations.” A croaky voice snuck through thoughts and Jack looked toward the origin. His nose and forehead still against the glass, his blue eyes locked Jesse and Jesse felt like dying. “What are you doing?” Jesse asked.

Jack removed his face off the glass and sighed. “What are you doing?” He countered the question and waited for a reply. Jesse shrugged one shoulder. He was moping, and his lower lip stuck out in a curled pout. The brown tuft didn't show enthusiasm today and some strands hung in his face. He didn't bother to remove it, just stood there and blew it out of his face. Jack smirked and kept looking at him because he was a sight for sore eyes no matter how unkempt he appeared. The continued silence confused Jack and he tilted his head.

         “Who made you do it?” Jesse asked another question and it took a while for Jack to understand what he meant.

         “Your supervisor.” Jack replied and looked away.

         “She is also your supervisor now, apparently.” Jesse's cocky voice neared and he stood next to Jack. His own reflection against the glass and the dark outside world made him cringe.

         Jack's lips twitched. “No one says anything. I hope that's a good thing.”

         “You don't want to bathe in people's tearful love confessions and their happiness about you not being death?” Jesse was feeling a sort of betrayal. He could have told him plenty of times that it would be smart to just tell the truth, but none of the things he said weighted heavy enough on him to admit to it, and instead it took someone else to make him change his opinion. Second choice. Jesse hated being the second choice.

         Jack looked back at him. His eyes danced along the glass and hoped from one tiny light to another. There was some gray hiding between dark and bright brown strands on his temples. One had to look very close to see them. “Why are you angry?” Jack asked unabashed.

         “I'm not angry.” Jesse frowned.

         “Nah,” Jack's eyes left his face and beheld the nightly scenery. “You also aren't drunk.”

         “Last I checked, I didn't ask for your opinion.”

         Jack smacked his lips and let his right hand search for Jesse's left next to him. His index finger circled about until he found something to hold. A soft touch, tickling the back of Jesse's hand; he made a face and pulled it back. “I'm going to get some sleep. Or another drink.”

         Then he turned away and Jack felt and odd sensation in his chest. He bit his tongue and kept staring out of the window. The pain was a pain he hated experiencing, because he experienced it only a few times in his life. A pain one feels when they wonder what they have done wrong, but don't dare to ask because something might come up they wouldn't have ever expected. Now he wanted a drink himself and he wondered if he should track him down and ask about his reasons. Was it worth it? Jack bid the view goodnight and followed the weary man until he arrived in a small room behind him. Jesse fished for a small bottle. This room reminded him on the rooms in Gibraltar where Gabriel would play guitar and Ana read a book while everyone else was bustling about like busy bees. Jack disregarded the thoughts and stopped right behind Jesse, who shivered at the expected move behind him. Two cool palms rested on his arms and a chin nestled against his shoulder. Jesse stopped pouring. “Do you want one?”

         “Yes,” Jack said. “Because _you_ clearly had enough.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

_I believed in miracles as a kid. I believed in some superhero to come along and pull my tragic, orphaned ass out of the mud I have put myself into. So, waiting for a better day, which never came. Waking up, seeing the sun, going out to steal another dime. Trying to escape, trying to not think too much because everything is too dire to ever be better. The heroes I wanted to come never came, and I just sat on my mattress being angry at some fictional character who wasn't ever going to show up and tell me that everything will be alright. 'Nothing ever will be alright' I told myself and gave up believing in a better world. Sooner or later, so I thought, we all die, what did it matter how we died. I was a fifteen-year-old criminal sitting there, with a cigarette and a dirty face, waiting for something. I didn't know what I waited for._

_Since that the heroes never came, I decided to be my own god damned hero since I was better on my own anyway. Some costume, some name, it didn't matter if all of this wasn't my own because people wouldn't remember me anyway. They barely knew me. They knew my voice, and they knew my effort and skill, but they didn't know who I was. How could I blame them since I didn't know who I was myself when I looked into the mirror. Years passed and I believed that I'll never make it pass 20. I never thought about what I would be or do when I was 30, I never thought about finding anyone to share more intimacy than the usual hour or night with, since nothing was forever._

_Now, I sit here and watch children have heroes, all kinds of heroes. One for every kid in the world and I wonder if I am someone's hero, too. I hope not, because I'm not someone to look up to._

 

 


	12. The wolf howls and the lion will come

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bonding with Jack, Hanzo, and Jesse. Odd events throw Jesse off and into a bad mood. Hanzo and Jack find more strange evidence and a flashback haunts Jack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello sweet children,
> 
> Here is some sex. And a lot of sad angst. Now, this sex scene is funny at some point because I was looking up funny words for penises earlier. It is amazing what the human mind can come up with, so please don't kill me for that Mc76 scene. 
> 
> Also, please don't kill me for the weird/sad ending. I hope you enjoy it anyway.
> 
> Content warning:  
> In my book, Jack has PTSD, so there is something with that happening. Jesse's depression is mentioned and written about, and all that. There is some mention of violence by the end and some other topics come up. Also Gabriel Reyes.  
> There are few of my headcanons, as usual.
> 
> (I fixed the weird format because I finally figured out how to do that. I also noticed weird typos I can't recall from editing sessions, so I will work on that later.)

## 12

  


“Brave as I am, I'm not immune to the rain

Worn out by mistakes made

I try to find familiar faces but they fade

Love, desire I can't help but feel so drained.”

Josephine Oniyama

  


  


  


  


Piano music – the crisp air was like piano music. Flattering shadows cast their beauty on people's face. Hanzo

watched the grass fields. How come he never saw them like this before? The soil he rested upon was damp and soft, the grass tickled his elbows, insects buzzed about. A few bites itched his skin, but he ignored it. He wasn't one to get distracted by little things – so he thought.

“Here for the view?” Someone said. He sat next to him and sighed relieved.

“No.” Hanzo replied honest.

Jack nodded as though that statement impressed him, then he looked at him because there would be something he wanted to talk about. Jack used to be good at extruding words. He spent twenty years at the side of someone who was good at hiding everything. Hanzo noticed and rolled his eyes in his stone-cold sober manner. “Well,” he began.

“Well?” Jack blinked with a dry smirk.

“I thought about what you've asked me?” Hanzo looked at him and his ridiculous face. He stopped for a moment to appreciate it before he returned to the grassland before him. “If I ever thought about myself. The answer I gave you wasn't entirely true. I used to think about myself a lot until I learned that it is a flaw and I shouldn't think of my own well-being anymore. This has ever since only caused havoc on other people's life. So, I don't do it.”

Jack grunted. “You can't keep doing this forever. No matter the crime you – ”

“I killed my own brother.” Hanzo reminded him in a stark tone.

“You did so because it was expected of you, or did you agree with the deed? Now,” Jack pulled his knees to his chest and rested him arms on it. Hanzo ruffled his nose in the advent of a patronizing speech. “I don't think so. We all make mistakes, we all have to make it right in a way. Do what we can to redeem ourselves, huh? In the end, a kill is a kill whether that is someone that matters to you or not. I killed a lot. You did. A crime is a crime. Just because someone commits that crime who is in a position of public admiration doesn't take away the fact. The many times I looked at a soldier – fatally injured, staring at me as though I am going to save their life – knowing there was nothing I could do left me in a stupor. Endless amounts of times life confronted me with death in any way. You think you become immune to it, but you don't. Every death matters to you. Knowing what you did is haunting you, rightfully so if it is your own fault. Yet, it can't be undone. In your case, that turned out to be false.”

“And what is that supposed to tell me, Aristotle?”

“That you are … that your brother is doing well, he forgave you. No matter how much you dislike each other, however different your perceptions, he is alive and so are you.”

“That doesn't take away the fact that murder is wrong.” Hanzo glanced at him and Jack rose his brows.

“I never stated the opposite. All I'm saying is that you have the right to stop punishing yourself for it. Considering your background and your attempts to right all your wrongs... you aren't the bad person you are trying to sell me. I can see through that, you know.”

Hanzo shook his head. He whispered: “I wish I could have killed someone else that day for making me do this.”

“Don't think about it.” Jack inhaled.

“I am just so very tired of it all.” Hanzo rubbed his palms in an attempt to distract himself.

“We all have our basements full of shit and trash that we smell the stank upstairs. You can close the door and keep the windows open, try to keep that stank out but it won't disappear, right. Just throw it out.”

“I won't burden you with my shit.”

Jack laughed weary and it made Hanzo smile. Then Jack calmed down. “You already did, but I don't mind.”

He realized that there was this little amount of personality inside Hanzo which reminded him on Gabriel, and yet again, he compared his present day life to the past. Jack should not do it, he should stop comparing everyone and everything to this one particular person. Although they were much alike, and he saw the same pride and the same strength. Did he spend his time by his side because he longed for something he missed, or did he truly appreciate his company? Jack thought about it, tracing the art on Hanzo's skin with his tired eyes until he reached the wrist. Hanzo's white shirt smelled like clean cotton. Was it wrong to sniff on it? Jack disregarded the urge and just cleared his throat.

“Thank you.” Hanzo dared to speak. A gentle whisper it was, joining the night's piano play. Jack just shrugged it off clumsily. _Fifty years old and so helpless,_ Hanzo thought and it entertained his befuddled senses so much that he felt this unexpected, intense surge of happiness taking him into a courageous embrace. Did this equal the feeling of being in love? He didn't know. The only thing he knew about love was a pain in his chest. Was it stupid to ask that?

“What does it feel like to be in love?” He then eventually asked and beheld Jack's side-face. His mouth opened and his eyes narrowed, as though he tried to transform inner monologue into an intelligible speech. Jack wanted to reply, but before that, he countered Hanzo with a question of his own.

“Why would you want to know that?” He sounded sarcastic.

“I just wonder.”

Jack tilted his head. “Like a fucking punch in the gut. It's not pleasant.” Hanzo seemed disappointed like a child waiting for a terrifying story, but the story he told wasn't scary enough. Jack blinked and caught the look, replying to it with a non-verbal _what_. “I'm sorry.”

“Worry not,” Hanzo replied dry. “I am used to it.”

Jack scoffed and let it go. How the fuck should he know what falling in love felt like? “I wish that I could tell you...” He was interrupted mid-sentence. Hanzo's lips on his were tender, fearing that they might melt the soft layer of snow, that flake on his palm too beautiful to destroy. “... what that feels like.” Jack finished his sentence under the soft lips. Hanzo rested there for a while; just like that without any further ado. Two pairs of lips meeting with an occasional move. No trace of taste lingered on Jack's skin, no memory of anything until Hanzo added his very own flavor. The caress did not offer enough fulfillment to Jack and he reached out to touch his face with his hand, thumb on cheekbone, to ask for something keener. Hanzo followed the command on his lips and the pull on his shirt to move in closer. Hanzo's loose hair fell into Jack's face as he swung onto his lap in one swift turn. Jack couldn't handle the grace compressed into this single, mortal shell. How did that fit? Jack admired it in silence before he closed his eyes with a growing hunger that made him growl like an old dog. He didn't have anything with him, though, and so he calmed himself and enjoyed the kiss. Jack's hand slid under the shirt and ran across the stomach to his chest, which was a nice place to be. He opened his eyes and removed his lips, instead his forehead rested against Hanzo's mouth while he pulled on the collar of his shirt to have a better sight. This was one of the occasions when he wished he possess the skill to paint, because his shapes asked to be caught on canvas. He wished he could undress him and just stare at him for an hour, then resting his head on his chest and fall asleep. Jack moved up to kiss him again, this time long and intense and a little bit sloppier than before because he could not care less.

His hands wandered around Hanzo's waist, pressed against his back and held onto him like a mighty treasure. They stayed like this for a while since nobody wanted to move more than that. The night became somewhat crispier, and the moonlight somewhat clearer.

  


  


 

  


The thing about his stability was that it's never truly there, and his dark moods never really disappear. Jesse's arms rested on the counter inside a full bar and he stared at himself in the mirror on the wall. Then he looked away and rubbed his eyes. Another memory triggered earlier, something that didn't happen in a few days. He almost forgot about it. Why did they feel so heavy? Why did they include him? He saw Gabriel's face and, smiling, he said _don't worry, I'm right behind you._ Jesse looked at his knuckles. The bruises almost vanished and his skin looked normal again. He made a fist. Jesse felt so drunk and yet, he still kept going with filling himself up like a bottle. There he sat and thought that alcohol would make the pain less and the nights shorter, but it didn't do anything except for making him feel miserable. He wished that he didn't feel as bad and that he could do whatever other people did when they were bored and hadn't anything else to do. Not working meant no distraction. And so, he fell into the pit he crawled out a few years ago. His pad lit up: there was a message but he didn't want to reply.

 _Where are you?_ Someone asked. Someone special. For some reason, that made him weak and he hid his mouth. Where was he? Jesse already forgot and looked around. He was too drunk to figure it out and replied a _I dunno._

He hiccuped and swallowed, trying to sit straight up so that the bartender wouldn't notice how drunk he was. At least that seemed to be a good plan, but the bartender knew how much he had, of course. He ordered another drink and the blinking light of his pad hurt his left eye. _Want me to pick you up?_ Jesse frowned and complained to himself with unintelligible words. “I don't need a damned babysitter...” He mumbled.

Because he didn't react, another message lit up the screen and he wanted to toss the pad out of the window. Someone seemed worried but Jesse avoided thinking about that and just succumbed to his terrible mood. He wanted to remember people as good and empowering, not as broken wrecks and liars, as it often was with the people he admired in any way. One of the view superheroes he liked until they ruined them. A story? A real person? Nothing mattered in the end and they expected him to stay happy and cheery even though the world imploded. He thought about that: whenever he started to like something or someone, they lost their power. Was it him? Someone approached him calmly. Fifteen minutes later, with a worried look on his scarred face. Jack didn't feel as sure about this as before. Did he want to be alone? Drinking by himself? He knew these days, even though Jack didn't drink like that for years. He knew the effect it had on him.

He knew the effect it had on Jesse, who was prone to drinking away anything that bothered him, and he felt bothered by a lot of things. Jesse rose his glass and that was when Jack introduced himself to the scene, taking the glass out of his hand. He looked about if anyone would be close enough to hear them. When this wasn't so, he spoke in a low voice. “I'm kind of worried about you.”

Jesse pulled a face and tried to reclaim the glass, but it ended up in the bartender's space. “I don't need a fucking bodyguard, yanno.”

“Hm,” Jack faked a smile.

Jesse started laughing and it poured light into the room. Although it consisted of sarcasm and sounded bitter. “I remember that,” Jesse stood and poked Jack's chest with his index finger. “How the strike-commander came all the way down to King's Row to save my ass. Just like now. To bad my arm's already cut off and everyone else dead.” The hand dropped and he looked down. “Just like a fucking fairy-tale, huh.”

“Let's go home.” Jack still spoke low since the bartender looked at them already. He exchanged a quick look and tried to find a good spot to put his hand on since he didn't want to make Jesse uncomfortable. Jack decided for Jesse's shoulder and turned him away from the counter.

“I don't want to go home,” Jesse protested quiet. “I just want to stay here until I pass out. What's the problem with that? Why does everyone feel so fucking responsible as if I'm a fucking child.”

Jack listened and paid the bill to avoid further confrontation, grabbed the seam of his shirt and pulled on it to make him move. Jesse stumbled behind him, somewhat steady. “I don't get it, you know; why do you even fucking bother.”

Jack turned around and Jesse bumped into his chest. The moment he wanted to speak, Jesse placed his forehead against Jack and exhaled. “I feel like shit.” He confessed in a croaky whisper. Jack noticed the weak undertone in his voice and it was odd being the one he trusted with this information.

“We could go, you change and lie down.” Jack suggested, hoping that would help. Jesse instead rose and Jack saw that his eyes were red and misty.

“I don't want to sleep.” Jesse complained and he sounded overloaded.

“What do you want to do?” Jack kept him locked in his eyes and examined every more, no matter how little.

“I don't know.” Jesse touched Jack's black shirt again and fumbled with it. The cloth felt good under his fingertips and he kept picking on it. Then he patted his chest. “Maybe I should just go back inside. I'm sorry to bother you with that shit.”

“No,” Jack took the hand and held it tight. So tight, Jesse felt his own pulse, the blood pumping through his veins, and suddenly he felt aroused. He often liked to fuck his anger and sadness away. He believed that Jack wasn't in the mood for that though, and he didn't look like the type for it, either. “How about we just sit somewhere.”

“I don't.” Jesse blinked. “Want to talk.”

“We don't have to.” Jesse stared at him for too long, then at the hand, then back at his face. He inhaled sharp and nodded. They walked as far as Jesse wanted to. Just a few feet toward the water. A balcony, a sleepy street, a bench abandoned in the night. Jesse sat on the edge of the balcony though, his legs hung above the water. Jack joined him. Behind them shun the few lights of the bars still open and their terraces inhabited chatty people.

“How much did you drink?” Jack inquired.

“I told you: I don't really want to talk.” Jesse niggled. “I don't know.” He looked at Jack and hated that worried face right there. Jesse didn't want to cause that.

“Drinking doesn't really sol–“ Jack spoke, but Jesse just gestured to be quiet. “I don't need to hear that, thanks.”

“We should go.” Jack gave up and rose. He picked up Jesse and forced him to move with him, no matter how much he complained until they reached the destination. Back inside, away from curious eyes and unflattering street lights, he tried to make Jesse more comfortable by starting to put him in some fresh clothes. They were hard to find and so he had to search his own small stock to find something wearable. A new short, a pair of shorts that were too tight for Jesse since he weighted more than Jack. Did it matter?

He returned and helped Jesse undress, who started to kiss Jack before Jack himself pulled back. “No. Not like that.”

“Why not?” Jesse's lips reminded on his cheek while Jack still fought with his clothes. It was one thing to undress another, it was worse when that person was drunk and uncoordinated.

“You're drunk.”

Jesse laughed. “Is that such a turn-off?”

“No,” Jack finally managed to remove his shirt and exchanged it with his own. “it's not fair.”

“What a bummer.” Jesse hiccuped. “If you just gave me one more kiss though, that would be nice. Maybe two.” He held up his hand, with two fingers. Jack snorted and kissed his cheek quick before replacing Jesse's pants. “That was one.”

Once he was done, Jack pointed to the bed and Jesse furrowed his brow. “Do I really need to get tucked in?” Jack didn't reply and Jesse moaned, plopped on the bed and lay on his side. Dark circles under his eyes spoke of a lack of sleep, and knowing Jesse, Jack guessed the most he slept in the past few days were three or four hours.

Jack joined him, scooped up from behind, and the second kiss landed on the other cheek. “Thanks.” Jesse mumbled and rolled on his back. “You know, Jack, you're really handsome.” Jesse started, and Jack sighed at the upcoming drunk talk. Usually that was the truth, and people felt inclined to share that truth with him. “It's too bad that you mind me being drunk because I am very horny right now.”

“It's alright, Jesse.” Jack said.

“I really can't sleep like that.” Jesse continued. He was tense, and his arousal just mixed up with that, making it seem like sex was the best solution. His eyes opened. “I could tell you some stories.”

Jack slowly developed a headache and pulled Jesse around to face him, wrapping him up in his arms to make him comfortable, hoping that this would make him fall asleep. But Jesse didn't feel like sleeping, and the alcohol's effects on hims started to weaken. He still felt tipsy, but not miserable anymore. He rose to lean on his elbow, head against his palm, looking at Jack. Jack himself seemed a bit unsure. He was flabbergasted by how fast his moods changed, how quick he came from depressed to delighted, and then he wondered if he ever tried to find help for that.

Jesse's weary eyes and his tired body wanted him to sleep, but he just desired to stare at Jack and melt into a puddle of water. He noticed the shirt he wore, gray, and then he moved lower to kiss him and Jack replied with some hesitation. Jesse tasted like cheap whiskey and Jack cringed. The kiss grew a little more passionate and Jack decided to settle it with a quick thing, his hand trailing down and finding what he looked for. Jesse's reply came in a moan and he lay back down, nestling his face against Jack's neck while enjoying the slow massage.

It didn't take long until he fell asleep against his partner and Jack moved his hand from his crotch to his back.

 

  


Jesse woke up with a headache, touched his head with both hands and found Jack next to him – awake and looking out of the window, across Jesse – with focused eyes. The weather was gray and rainy, some pink rays of an early sun tried to break through, but it was for naught. The light got caught in Jack's eyes and that delighted Jesse. He didn't know for how long he slept but he felt sober. Probably six hours. He reached out to touch Jack's narrow, rosy lips with his thumb and traced them to gain his attention. Jack looked at him slightly cross-eyed.

“Good morning.” Jack said. Jesse moved in and kissed him and Jack rose his eyebrows surprised because the same feeling still claimed him. The kiss grew into a demanding inducement and Jesse moaned beneath that kiss which overwhelmed Jack a little bit. He just woke up, didn't have any coffee yet, and the light shone right into his face. Jack held his face and rolled him on his back, removed the pillow from under him and halted the kiss for a while. He watched him catch his breath and these two demanding brown eyes undressing him. Jack chuckled.

The brown eyes wandered up and down Jack's appearance, waiting for something to happen quite impatiently. Why did he feel like this? It's not that he never felt this excited before, or that he never had passionate sex, as it seemed upcoming, before, what confused him was the person he spent it with. The infatuation, or even love, he felt toward that person and yet, he felt such strange desire. He didn't know that it could go together. There wasn't enough material to compare it with.

Two fingers traced his lips and he hadn't noticed because he got lost in thought. They danced on his lips and a mouth joined, then they disappeared. Jesse whined because he was everything but patient today. His hands grabbed Jack's shoulders, his fingers dug into the fabric and the skin. It made Jack move up, slide up Jesse's shirt and pull it across his head. His hands stayed there at his wrists as he kissed him again.

Jesse, amused, chortled against the lips and nibbled on his bottom lip. He didn't know why. Maybe because he liked his arms above his head, held in place while Jack's mouth was somewhere else. He fantasized about that and wondered how to tell him that without making him scream and run away. For some reason did he not dare to tell him that. Jesse closed his eyes again and wiggled underneath Jack, who used his shirt to fasten his wrists and bind them to the bed-frame.

“Huh,” Jesse looked at Jack's face. “Can you read thoughts now, too?” He whispered and never let his eyes sway away. Jack avoided them teasingly and just moved down to Jesse's chest, where he placed little kissed in between words. “Maybe.” He said. “Or maybe I am just daring.”

Jesse exhaled and ruffled his brow with his head back on the mattress. “Do continue.”

As if Jack needed to hear that, but he did wait before moving lower. His lips tickled Jesse as they neared his belly button and he arched his back. Jack assumed that he would let him know when he didn't like something. For some reason did he notice things like that: whenever he didn't want to talk, when he felt uncomfortable, when he was in any kind of bad mood. Jack could distinguish the differences. He patiently touched Jesse's sides and caressed them with gentle strokes that made him squirm more. He didn't bother to get right to the job, though, and moved back up to his face. Jesse pulled on his shackle, made of soft fabric, in reflex because he wanted to move his arms. Jack knew what he wanted, but waited for him to say it.

“I do not have the patience for that, though.” He said croaky and Jack's lips rested against his cheek. “Not?” Jack feigned offense and his hands trailed back down, his mouth traced his jaw, and Jesse felt like screaming. Jack's hand though didn't touch him, it went around, and inside him – or at least partly – before his kisses found a path from the jaw to the middle of his chest where his heart beat fast against his ribcage. His two fingers did their job as Jesse arched his back, pressing the chest against his face.

“Can you,” Jesse groaned when Jack hit that spot and locked his legs around his thighs since anything else would prevent him from going on. Jack looked up waiting for instructions. “Yes?”

“Talking is really hard like that.” Jesse complained.

Jack kissed his mouth once. A teasing peck. “I guess it isn't the only thing that is hard right now.”

“Jack, please.” Jesse bemoaned both his remark and the fact that he wanted to free himself from that burden. He let go off it quick and enjoyed the slow massage as far as that was possible. It happened that he was almost there, and then it stopped for some reason. The side of his head hurt and a memory rolled over him which he wished to avoid, especially in this situation. As Jack removed his fingers and crawled up toward his face – his hands gliding up his back while he kept kissing his stomach and chest – Jesse opened his eyes and it wasn't Jack he saw. He blinked shocked and just hoped that the memory was over soon.

An immediate thought preoccupied him, a little fact he tried to hide. He never truly though of Gabriel as a father, but a friend, and maybe this was his punishment since Gabriel tried to imprint this idea onto his mind. It never reciprocated.

Jesse stared at Jack, who was Jack again, and drowned in his blue eyes. Why did he feel so bad out of a sudden? It faded when the hands reached his shoulder and one rested on the back of his neck. He carefully bit down on his lip and pulled him down. “Jack,” he mumbled demanding. “Can you at least take that shirt off?”

Jack did so and continued fondling Jesse's neck with lips and tongue. Jesse noticed how, whatever he asked, he did, and that trapped in the need to speak up. He rarely talked in moments like this. He was too passive for that. The kisses and naked chest touching his however spurred him, and the warmth between them gave him a strange sense of trust and no matter the tension, he felt relaxed. He breathed in and poked Jack's temple with his nose. “And the rest? Can you take that off, too, but very slow?”

Jack moved up to sit on folded legs. “I am not going to turn on music.”

Jesse shrugged and watched him take off the rest. He didn't do it as slowly as Jesse wanted, but the time spent in pulling down fabric, revealing that body in daylight with the erotic air accompanying the situation, made it all worth it. He had had seen him naked before in the showers, but that was everything but sexual. Showers weren't ever sexual to him. Jesse wished he could reach out to his dog tags and pull him down that away. Jesse remembered how Jack showered with the other soldiers, and some of the men turned around because to them, the nudity during showers _was_ something sexually charged. They eyed him, checked out his butt, giggled and continued showering. Jesse didn't think that his backside was exceptional; at least not in comparison with others. He snorted at that, Jack glanced up confused.

Then he gave his eyes another rest and Jack's hands returned to their former duty; although this time he wasn't teasing him or trying to keep him going, but he was playing the introduction to a way longer play. The sudden cool, wet feeling down there made him shiver and nothing else happened until he would say it, of course. Jesse learned that fast. How would he have to say that? He hated being explicit. Those two fingers though drove him to the edge and he couldn't take it anymore. Jesse would beg for it if he had the courage for speaking up. Did it matter? He wanted him to fuck him for twenty years, and he still didn't dare saying a thing. That was why he didn't achieve anything in life.

“Now, just,” Jesse's breath got in the way and he pulled on the fabric. It was so frustrating, and at the same time did he enjoy it. “Just do it... you know.” He stuttered. “The thing.”

“The thing?” Jack repeated.

“Don't tease me like that.”

“You're naturally a very outspoken person. I'm just surprised by your choice of wording.” Jack chuckled.

Jesse relaxed his arms, his muscles weren't tense for a moment and he leaned his head slightly to the side. “How would I have to phrase it without sounding obnoxious?” He said. Then he felt funny. “ _Punish me, commander_? Or perhaps: _Hell yeah, mister vigilante. Your mask turns me the fuck on?_ ” He arched his brow and puckered his lips.

Jack made a face, considering the sentences. “No.”

Jesse nodded, he almost forgot about the massage going on. “Something more poetic then, like in those raunchy romance novels?” He thought about what they would sound like, having read one or two during lonely nights – he used to find great entertainment then – and remembering their voice. “ _Oh golly, I have never felt more aroused than tonight. Now stuff me like a Turkey with your big love-tool._ ” Then he started laughing. It dyed his cheeks deep red. Jesse kept taunting Jack with what he remembered, between laughter and attempts to calm down. “Your enormous engorged flesh. Or wait...” he inhaled. “Your plenipotentionary instrument!”

Jack just caressed his stomach. His lips stopped and he blew a raspberry.

“How do you even remember all that?”

Jesse's laughter faded into lovable chortles and he shrugged. He was still red and needed more time to calm down. “Now, seriously, though.”

Jack placed a kiss on the sweaty skin and then immediately went up to kiss him. Jesse started cackling stuck in that kiss and kept going. “Enter my molten core with your meaty sword.”

It made Jack laugh, too, and he stopped nibbling on his lips. “Jesse, please. I can't do this.”

“Oh, why not?” Jesse inhaled. “Too dirty for you?”

“I don't know what is more shocking: the fact that you read that stuff or that you remember all this.” He pushed into him at the same time, his hand moved up his thigh, raising it and then guiding it around his back. All slow, all with utmost care. Jesse died a little inside because it felt great and used his leg to instruct him. He wanted him closer and he wanted him deeper, and that little push was supposed to tell him that. Jack's moves were deliberate and intense on purpose because he liked hearing him talk. Jesse uttered curses against Jack's lips and demanded a faster speed. His chest heaved against Jack's, his muscles tightened around him to Jack's surprise, but he kept going until he was throwing his head back in desire and entertainment. His backside moved against him in a slow dance, in rhythm with his own. It was the second time now that he experienced it like that, without touch, just hitting that spot and being fondled, but it was harsher. It was intenser and longer.

Jack kissed him to swallow the loud groans and didn't stop moving into him until Jesse was done. Or as it seemed that he was done. Jack moved up and went to change, but Jesse, after inhaling, glanced at him. “Who said that I was done?”

“Oh, so,” Jack leaned back onto him. Their eyes met and his lips hovered above Jesse's. “You are taking this very seriously.”

He continued then, and his moves became a little faster, waiting for any kind of uttered demands but none came until he pushed deeper. That was when another wave made him shudder, and Jack felt the same thing, though not in time with Jesse. This time, pulled his arms back again, harsher with a frown on his face, and Jack loosened the fabric around his wrists. His hands grabbed his face, holding him close until they went for his back, leaving red traces there as he came for good. For Jack, it was less euphoric, mainly because of the fact that he wasn't very loud himself, other than Jesse.

Jesse took the hand, resting on his neck, and kissed the palm as he caught his breath. Everything was wet and sweaty, he felt dirty but yet somehow, he liked that feeling. He could finally grab the necklace and pull on it. Upon doing so, he saw that one of the two dog tags were Gabriel's. Jesse's fingers fumbled with it and Jack looked down. He didn't say anything, just moved up, removed his protection and cleaned up Jesse's stomach.

Watching him do so bore a strange kind of interest. Jesse noticed how much he loved him, but he thought that it wouldn't ever compare to how much Jack felt for Gabriel, and vice versa. That dimmed his mood again.

Once done cleaning up, Jack joined him and buried his face in the graying, brown hair. Jesse wanted to tell him, share that intensity he felt. That, though, was known for being rather difficult.

“Are you feeling better now?” Jack asked, curious. His warm breath grazed Jesse's ears. He shivered.

“Uh,” Jesse cleared his throat. “I think so.”

 

  


 

After a shower and a warm cup of coffee, Jack joined the cocky Japanese man in their very own meeting room. Hanzo stood there as usual, greeted him professionally, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. Even then he was admirable. Jack sipped on his coffee and took him in wholly for a second, then he focused on work.

“How is Jesse?” Hanzo asked, and it was the first time that there was something like a mutual understanding of what the three of them had.

“Better.” Jack said short.

Hanzo nodded and went over to open a file, he tapped the screen and a picture appeared. “This one is missing since April. Whether he is a subject or a victim is not known.”

“Another possible informant?”

“Yes.” Hanzo loosened his arms and rested his hand on the table. His fingertips drummed slow. “There is something else.”

Jack lowered the mug and waited for him to speak, but Hanzo did not do so and pulled his hand back.

“What is it?” Jack asked.

“The dead body we have found the other day, devoured by rodents? He was a former Overwatch soldier. No-one important, just someone to help rid the streets of rogue omnics. However miniscule the detail, it's still something to consider.”

“Are you sure he was?”

“He did not leave Overwatch. He died. The DNA though is the same. Same person unless he as an identical twin, which he doesn't. So, why did he reappear like that?”

“He probably found more interest in a group of terrorists.”

“But why?”

“Didn't like my approach?”

“Hm,” Hanzo tapped his lips. “Did you hear of that ominous phantom people talk about? You surely did since you encountered them once yourself.” Hanzo pointed at his facial scars. Jack made a face – he didn't want to share that experience.

“Your memories appear to Jesse thanks to modern technology. These memories are saved and accessible. I'm sorry to invade your privacy like that, but some were released a few days ago before you came out and told everyone who you are.”

Jack grunted.

Hanzo approached him and stood still, trying to find any sort of emotional evidence on Jack's canvas. There was none. “Why did that ghost follow you?”

“I don't know.” Jack evaded his eyes because they made him nervous.

“You are a bad liar.”

“Why are you even browsing through those memories if you didn't want to _invade my privacy_ in the first place?” Jack felt hurt.

“I had no choice. From the beginning, this was part of my job.”

“Searching for me?”

“Finding evidence of what happened. I signed up for it. To make peace with my past and help. Little did I know it would affect me personally some years later.” Hanzo paused and noticed the sudden blue mood in Jack. He saw these memories, and he felt their pain. He looked down at their feet. “I am sorry. For doing it, and for your loss.”

“Hm,” Jack stared at the screens lifelessly.

“Did you think he was here?”

“Yes.”

“Do you still think so?”

“I have no idea what to think about this anymore. All I want is to find whomever is responsible for any of that.” Jack was dismissive and took a step back. His former investigations were a hot mess, and there too many fake evidences, too many indications, too much of this and that. He lost overview. All he wanted was to find out what happened to Reyes and he found nothing.

“Then we must do so.” Hanzo replied and smiled gentle. “What I know from the things I have seen in these memories is that I'm certain he would not do anything to endanger your well-being. For him loving you as much as he did.”

“If you say so.”

“I do. I never loved anyone as much, but I understand what he felt.” Hanzo winced at his own statement. He betrayed himself now, ratted himself out. It caused Jack to glance at him suspiciously. Hanzo caught it and scratched his earlobe. This was hardly the moment for a confession. “I hold you in high regard, Jack.”

Jack huffed. _See for how long you'll do that._ “Thanks.” He tried to rid himself of anxiety. “I thought we had to keep this professional?”

“I am.” Hanzo put on his smug face, to Jack's liking. Lips curled, brow risen, arrogant look on his face. He loved it.

“I like you, too, mister Shimada. Especially this attempt of escaping a prospective sentimentality.”

Hanzo snorted. “Pah!” He turned away. “Can we get to work now?”

“You started it.”

Hanzo muttered some more under his breath all the way back to his spot and angrily tapped on the screens. “Can we go?”

“Give me navpoints and I'm ready.” Jack crossed his arms now and waited for him to do as he was asked. Hanzo smacked his lips.

  
  


  
  


  
  


They found the location outside of town: a remote, abandoned farm. Old vehicles slumbered and road signs disappeared beneath weeds. Jack stood there, an intimidating pose warning people to not test him. He didn't bother to wear his visor this time. He wanted to be seen. It gave him some strange satisfaction. “I love being able to smell the shit of this place.”

Hanzo joined his side and judged him immediately. “Don't get cocky.”

“Imagine we find something here? Will Liliana let us go?”

Hanzo rolled his eyes at his deadpan humor and tried to find a way to sneak through the barricaded gate without gaining any kind of attention. He was good at it. What Jack secretly appreciated was their matching armor. That reminded him on these couples who purchased fitting weather jackets and wore socks in sandals when they hit the road. All they needed were a woolen hat each and trekking backpacks. He smirked and followed Hanzo through the underwood.

The farm was an relic from old days: 19th century, containing too many memories, good and bad, births and deaths, stories to never be told. Jack liked that. Any time they went abroad to distant destinations – anything was distant to him since he was a farmer – he'd get lost in the streets and find himself admiring old buildings, old books, and old art. The best thing about this were the stories hidden on the back of old photographs in antique shops. Jack used to collect them, writing down names in a database, scanning the pictures and waiting for people to recognize a long-gone ancestor. That was one of the things he did in this free time besides collecting vintage books. Jack didn't know where they kept all these things and he forgot to ask. Perhaps Angela knew?

He missed Hanzo making his way up to the first floor, from the outside, as agile as a cat. Jack understood and took the door since he was old and not agile anymore. His hand slunk through the broken window of the porch door, twisting the knob and opening the entrance. Jack held onto a small chime to prevent it from jingling. Silence sucked him in and he felt like being stuck in a vacuum. The air was thick and sticky, spiderwebs tangled in his face and he wanted to leave. He hated spiders, and disbelieved someone lived here. Sudden footsteps convinced him otherwise. It wasn't Hanzo, since no-one could ever hear him.

“Hear that?” He used his comm. Static.

“Yes.” Hanzo replied, then he was quiet. Jack raised his firearm and moved onward along the walls. His eyes tried to avoid looking at photographs on the walls with haunting eyes and dim faces. A fresh breeze tickled his nose and he stopped feeling something behind him. Should he turn around?

Jack glanced back and noticed a shadow between him and the open door. It moved and the door chimes, which he avoided skillfully, resounded. He turned around but the ghost vanished. He looked for something but there wasn't anything to be found. As he did, the noise recurred, but on the other side of the hallway, toward the direction he headed before. Did someone play tricks on him?

Footsteps on old wood, heavy and summoning. _Crack... crack... crack..._ It stopped and Jack nodded his eyes up, back down, and moved around a little more relaxed than before since he wasn't impressed. Out of a sudden, he jumped because he looked into a pale face. Or, not a face but a mask. It reminded him on the barn owls back home which he knew his father used to be afraid of. He liked them very much. Not this one, though. The masked ghost did not do anything, however, and just stood there in front of him. He tried to peak behind the mask through the eye openings and found two eyes. Red. He wasn't superstitious, but something make him shiver.

“I didn't know that Halloween was popular over here.” Jack sneered. “It's not even Halloween yet.”

The ghost moved back and suddenly, they were gone. “What the fuck.” Jack expelled. He sweat. A natural response. His heart beat fast and adrenaline rushed through his body. So, he went on and searched the perimeters without vigor. Ahead, the kitchen invited him; blue counters and cupboards covered in dust, no inventory and no further furniture. Jack walked on until he reached stairs and looked up, continuing without contacting Hanzo as he passed through the kitchen. A door, opened a crack, and he touched the wood with his free hand to push it open. Two tables and a few chair gathered in mighty silence. His gun lowered and he approached the desk. The cold returned as he stared at the tabletop, grazing his neck and hair.

“You shouldn't be here.” A deep and coarse voice arose from the dark and Jack aimed at the corner across the desk. A window cast a dim light into the room, but most of the niches remained untouched and darkness lingered on the walls. The voice laughed short.

“Who are you?”

“What difference will that make?”

Upstairs, footsteps, rumbling, a thud. Jack looked up wanted to activate his device, but the ghost neared and he felt paralyzed, as though whomever this was froze him in place. Jack felt trapped in black mist, or was it purple? His eyes dropped and he stared into the same mask as before. His aiming arms, holding the gun, went right through the person in front of him until they stepped back. “You never listened. Why do I bother.” The ghost disappeared from his view and Jack blinked in a strange shock. He tried to find him but somehow, the whole room turned pitch black. An electrical charge tensed the air and buzzed, useless curtains blew in front of the windows despite the lull. A voice haunted him and he rubbed his face. Some twenty-five years ago, he remembered being stationed in the south of France. An old house by the sea where rebels overran a town and hundreds passed away, or remained wounded. Him and other medical personnel made it there, accompanied by soldiers, one of them Reyes – the first time that they worked together. The house was a graveyard. Everyone but a girl fatally injured. The girl, perhaps six years of age, sang a lullaby to herself. The same song resounded now and he inhaled deep. That day back in France, it was the first time he lost his composure.

He couldn't sleep for days and stayed alongside the girl in the hospital; falling asleep at her bed, he heard her sing the lullaby and forgot what he did there. A chime.

Two hands touched his, and pushed them down. Something moved before him, then around and he felt two burning eyes on him. He never believed in ghosts.

  
  


  
  


  
  


Hanzo found the suspect and overwhelmed him. He wasn't dead but not in the mood to talk, either. The archer himself gained a few injuries and had to see medical. Jack stood outside the door and stared at the wall in front of him. He shook his head and walked into the room, Naheer keeping an eye on him because his facial expressions unsettled the assistant. Inside, Hanzo was treated by Angela herself, who glanced at Jack from her small stool. She rolled around as usual, picking up a bandage and forced Jack to wait outside. He gave in and trotted back outside.

Hanzo watched her intensely as she tended to his right arm. Her face spoke of disapproval, even he could see that.

“I know you don't like me. You don't have to be too gentle.” Hanzo smirked. Angela gave him a look and continued. “A patient is a patient.”

“Hm,” He rose his chin.

She peaked at Jack, who talked to Naheer, and then back at Hanzo. Her eyes were lit and he seemed to understand what she tried to imply. “I know what happened to your brother,” She looked at his wounds instead. “Because I was the one who took care of him. I like him very much; we are close friends. However, that is not why I am looking at you like this.”

“No?” Hanzo blew a strand of hair out of his bloody face. “Then what is it.”

She rested her hand on his arm. It looked tiny on there. “I believed that Jack was dead for five years, hence why I'm feeling rather protective of him, I guess. He is like a brother to me, you know. And I have big syringes.”

He chuckled. She replied with another look. “For whatever reason does he care a lot about you. I can see that. Don't take advantage of it.”

Hanzo rose his brows. “Intimidating; good. I like that.”

Angela finished and took another look at his face. She held his chin and removed the cotton wool from his nostrils. The nose wasn't broken and stopped bleeding. He wiggled it and sneezed. Then he sniffed and some old blood ended up in the back of his throat, so he made a disgusted face.

She rolled back to him and her heels moved on the ground. “How are you keeping up?”

“I thought that you hated me.” He ruffled his brow deadpan. “Why this sudden inquiry?”

“I only hate certain types of people. You aren't one of them. He told me a lot about you. It took me a long time to fathom what it must be like to grow up as the two of you did and it leaves a strain on you. After everything what happened, it is important to find a healthy way of dealing with it.”

Hanzo was uncomfortable and rolled his eyes to the side because he didn't understand how people tried to tell him to forgive himself for what he did. It was impossible. Why would they want him to that?

Angela noticed and tilted her head. “If there is anything I can do for you, I'm always here. Well, not always, but most of the time.” She smiled. That smile made him weak and he looked away.

“Thank you.” He rose and desired to escape the situation as soon as possible. Hanzo even tried to avoid Jack, who found him passing and offered Naheer his excuses.

“Are you okay?” He asked, strutting behind him and ignoring eyes glued on them.

“I am fine.” Hanzo sounded agitated.

Jack thinned his lips and touched Hanzo's left arm with his hand, preventing him from marching on and he stood next to him. He didn't look much uplifting; his face was a little, wrinkled canvas and his lips twitched.

“I could use a drink.” Hanzo whispered.

“Me too.” Jack nodded looking ahead before his eyes switched to rest on Hanzo. His hand traveled onto Hanzo's left shoulder, then to his right and his arm lay there as if it belonged to it.

 

 

* * *

  
  


_An explosion. Somewhere outside. The scent of burned flesh penetrated him and shook his body, but he didn't stop from walking through a sea of ruins. He stumbled across an arm buried beneath the bricks of a broken wall. Lifeless. Dead as anything he found here today, and he didn't want to continue. In front of him marched the big shadow of a man he became friends with. Reyes walked on, leading the way through stones toward a distress signal. The light on his weapon lit the area enough to see nothing but misery. Jack wanted to leave. He was twenty-five. Why was he doing that?_

_Gabriel stopped and reached back for Jack to do so, as well. He finally looked up and wondered what alerted the soldier. Movement. A voice. A gentle soprano, the one of a child. Gabriel's hand dropped and returned to the sidearm. He gestured covering Jack, who crossed the cold sea and found a girl between two lifeless bodies. Her black, curled hair in her face, two brown eyes staring up at him in his medic uniform. She kept singing. Jack tried to smile but he felt like screaming. He crouched and tried to convince the little person to trust him. She did quickly since he was made of flesh and bone. Back then, that was enough. Gabriel strolled about, finding the distress beacon in the hands of a dead woman. He sighed and lowered down to her, closing her eyes with one hand and speaking some words._

_Jack was busy examining the girl until he moved up. She stood, as well and held his hand. Then, he drifted away in thought and they floated onward, like an abandoned boat on still waters, toward a foggy open sea. The noises around him silenced, then reappeared all at once and sudden steps, the shattered furniture cracking, loud noises collided with him. He swung around with his own sidearm pulled and aimed Gabriel in reflex, who just looked at his eyes. Gabriel has seen that a lot, many people here had these moments. He rose his hands and never stopped looking at him as both of his hands moved onto Jack's. Resting there for a while on their backs before slowly pushing them down. Jack blinked. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to.”_

_“It's alright. I will protect you.”_

 

 

  


 


	13. The Lion roared, and nobody came

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jesse's is back at the investigation after some convincing, and the outcome is an unwanted scenery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, please do not kill me for this chapter, but I added some difficult things in here.  
> I do not excel very much at crime, but I keep trying and come up with minor, thrilling twists since my main focus is on the relationship and experience of the people I write about.
> 
> I also try to write a prequel, but I do not know if I will publish that to be honest.  
> There is a story at the end of the chapter, and you can find the original legend, which I based it on, here [x](http://www.firstpeople.us/FP-Html-Legends/Achaanwaapush-Cree.html)  
>   
>   
> Topics found in here, for those sensitive to some content:  
> \- mention of trauma  
> \- mention of depression  
> \- some blood and plot-related violence  
> \- my usual headcanons

 

 

> “Where you used to be, there is a hole in the world, which I find myself constantly walking around in the daytime, and falling in at night. I miss you like hell.”
> 
>  - Edna St. Vincent Millay

 

Hanzo's face flushed red; all the fancy clothing didn't distract from how much anguish he must have felt. Why did he feel so sullen out of the blue? His hands rolled up in fists, pushed deep into the pockets of his bright brown pants, and he stared at the glass before him. Just as Jack did it the other day, only did his nose not touch the window. Jack moved in and turned off the lights. Only the small light at the counter remained, and he invited the night inside. His reflection showed on the glass as he approached Hanzo with a glass. He didn't know if this drink met his tastes, but it had alcohol in it, and Hanzo wanted that.

Jack offered the glass, Hanzo beheld it with a side-eye. “Is this what I think it is?”

“What do you _think_ it is, then?” Jack made a shifty face. Hanzo grumbled and shrugged. “They didn't have any of yours, so I bought Brandy.”

Hanzo chuckled sarcastic and his face froze again. Brandy. He never really liked it, but gave it a try since Jack's face was such a tragic sight. It tasted as though they used apples and had a strange aftertaste. Better than whiskey, still weird. Hanzo needed to get used to it. The whole apple-thing made him feel like Snow White. Was the Jack the prince or the stepmother? That amused him for the fracture of a second.

“Tell me,” Hanzo knew how to distract, elegantly so. “What did you see down there today? A ghost?”

Jack winced and nursed his drink. His eyes swayed off his former point of focus – Hanzo's loose hair – to the side. “Nothing.”

“That tells me enough... namely that you're lying. It's fine. I lie all the time.” The passive aggression in Hanzo's voice amplified. He emptied the glass with one single gulp, then he shuddered and grunted. His hand moved to exchange his glass with Jack's, who accepted it silently. Jack walked over to the counter and refilled the glass.

“Do you know how some have _horrible_ stories about their childhood, that they somehow use to make other people feel sympathy for them? I hate those stories.”

“Hm” Jack said. He watched Hanzo fumble with the glass: an endearing and yet deject move. A writer, opening up a new story he wanted to tell in front of a line of empty chairs. No one and nothing there but the stage designer and bright light. A monologue dawning at the sunken horizon of his face, but nothing came and silence fell into the glass on which he settled his eyes upon. Jack switched glasses, filled his own, and pulled a nearby chair under him at the wide window. He sat down and watched a few stars twinkle in a moonless night. The city lights painted blue highlights on Hanzo's skin and hair. It looked like a movie, or a charismatic comic book, when the main character tried to be interesting to someone they began to care about.

Jack, ever so patient, said nothing in response. He was never really good at talking about his feelings, either, so he knew what it felt like. Something had touched him in a way that he felt the sudden urge, but he didn't want to talk as if that would be a weakness.

Sure it was, somehow. Jack often found himself caught in not confiding in anyone anymore because that would mean someone started to trust him, another person he began to care about, another loss to mourn. Maybe it was the same to him.

“I never really liked what I did.” Hanzo almost spit it out like rotten milk after having sipped on it. “To show my father I am worthy, of whatever the fuck I was supposed to be worthy of anyway. Because this is how we live: we respect our elders and don't speak ill of them, or even treat them bad in any way, not matter how bad they treat us. Alone at night, I often thought about leaving but because of my age and corresponding immaturity, I thought not, and just did what they asked of me. It could be better some day, I told myself. Now, my brother never gave a damn. That made me angry, and jealous at the same time. I was very jealous and very angry back then. Here I sit, pitying myself for being a fucking idiot. I never hated my brother, quite on the contrary: I always loved him very much.”

He sipped on his drink. Jack nodded; he had no idea what he had to do. Give him a hug? Tell him that his brother loved him, too? He never talked to him much, though, and so he could not say that without lying. Jack just looked at him in thoughts, staring at the drink in his hand. Hanzo passed the long vitreous wall until he reached Jack and sat down on the ground before him. He looked as defeated as anyone else who experienced too many things barely fitting into one life. For some people, life rushes on like a fast train and you stand there watching it pass. Caught in the vortex, you're dragged along no matter how hard you try to slow down. To others then, life is slow and steady. Jack did not know one single person with a steady life anymore after leaving home.

“I really have no idea what I am still doing here.” Hanzo said. Then he raised the glass to himself and emptied that one, too. Jack knew what he meant because he has been there many a time himself. “I though about this a lot, too, but there always is a good reason.”

Hanzo nodded and moved closer to rest his head on Jack's lap. It lay there on his thigh, cheek touching the rough fabric, his eyes focused on the glass held at the end of an outstretched arm. “That brandy is something... not my taste, but I can feel it.”

Jack made a worried face while looking at his own glass.

 

 

 

 _We need to have a chat –_ a milder version of _we need to talk,_ and Jesse hated both to such extend that he drank half a bottle of whiskey before going to see Liliana. Nearly two weeks passed. Two weeks of doing work on the sly. Two weeks of wondering whether he should go. Two weeks of doubting his skills. Tow weeks of drinking away boredom. He didn't feel as useless in a long time. His fingers didn't tingle anymore after drinking so much. Jesse didn't even feel the alcohol. After some time, immunity caused numbness, and numbness made him dangerous.

Jesse found out something. He found a person he thought to be responsible for most of the attacks in the past months. Someone in the shadows who pulled the strings and nobody was able to find since he knew how to hide, take on personalities. Travel. Come back and do it all over. Use people you convinced they meant something to you until they lost their usefullness. _We need to have a chat._ He told her. He told her that and she found that curious, as he never opened up to any interaction with her. Liliana expected something, as she stood her in her office. Strong and silent as usual. He himself nothing but a tipsy caricature.

He opened his mouth and she tilted her head. Her big, brown eyes were so tough, he didn't dare to speak. All that she needed was cigarette smoke and a light dimmer than the one right now. _What a fierce lady._ He thought whilst standing there. As if he never noticed that before, but the alcohol made his thoughts somewhat looser.

“I researched.” He said. Then his croaky throat cracked his voice. “And I found something interesting.”

Liliana blinked her eyes. “You worked while I told you to take some time off?”

“I am sorry, Ma'am,” He moved in and stopped two steps before her with hands risen, mouth open to continue, but the hands dropped again.

“Are you drunk, Jesse?” She sounded genuinely concerned.

“No.” He crossed his arms with the pad stuck between arm and ribcage.

Liliana's expression spoke of distrust and she sniffed on him like a parent on their disobedient child.

“I needed one drink because you scare me.” He confessed in his state – mumbled under his breath – and pulled the pad out of its hiding place to present the results of his research. She found that funny and rose one of her brows. Her arms relaxed and she interlocked her fingers in front of her crotch.

“Okay, look,” He said. Jesse never succeeded in presentations. He remembered how Gabriel covered his face with both his palms as Jesse tried to present a mission report before saying _I can't do this. I hate everything._ “Eh,” He looked at her and stood at her side as he slid through several pictures. It made her nervous and she grabbed the pad to do it for herself. All while listening to his talk. “What I found out is that we're looking for the wrong person because that person was always right here. Not here _here,_ but in this city.” He pointed to several pictures taken, few reports, and a couple of newspaper articles. The same face appeared, more or less a face, some blurred portrait of a nameless phantom. “There is this town outside of this city, few miles ahead, yeah? Abandoned after the war, right? That's where we have to look.”

“We?” She didn't look up and waited for the things in front of her eyes to convince her. It made sense. Plus the fact that she liked Jesse made it easier. Liliana found him to be a good person, with some troubles and problems, ready to unleash them at any given time. Though he also came to be invaluable to her, because he showed skill, taught to him by one of the best. Yet, what he needed to use them also was a natural inclination to comprehend and execute them. Jesse was intelligent. Liliana knew that.

“Hey, I did all the work. I deserve some praise.”

“How do I know this is an actual fact and not some drunk nonsense?”

“What they do is hiding in plain sight. That's a tactic I have learned myself because it works. These guys all suddenly appear and then disappear. “

“You are being too vague right now, McCree.” She handed the pad over.

“These people aren't here for a masterplan or a to do a little crime because they feel like it, they have been doing this because they want to distract from something else. Hence why their agents disappear or die right after we are on their tracks. Except for that one guy who tried to kill me, but I bet that wasn't what he wanted to do anyway.” He paused and rubbed his forehead. “Something else is going, and to find out, we have to find that one person out there who co-ordinates all that shit. Nobody expects them to hide in a godforsaken graveyard.”

“Fine.” Liliana still sounded suspicious. “And you want to be the one examining the place?”

His eyes danced from one object to another. “Yes.”

“The first thing you will have to do is to sober up, sleep for 8 hours, take a shower, and then we will discuss this again.”

Jesse inhaled. “I am fine now.”

“No.” She turned around and sat at her desk. “I will not change my words. Dismissed.”

Jesse blew a raspberry and stomped passed two guards who both stared him, which he didn't notice since he his focused all went to his pad.

 

 

Two days and twelve hours of sleep later, sobered up and with enough caffeine running through his veins to keep him going, Jesse convinced Liliana to look for the _dungeon master_ of this fruitless play. Nothing but a game, he thought, someone was playing them. A distraction.

It was his assignment and he wouldn’t mind doing something on his own. To Jack's disapproval for several reasons. An inhale heaved his chest and he exhaled in a groan. He looked for Jesse near the meeting point but didn’t find him. The town Jesse would forage for information remained empty for decades, and natives claimed it was haunted. Jack never trusted these kind of stories. Not even when his father told him of the barn owl mysteries back home. Nothing of that scared him, only the ghost he saw the other day did, and he did not like thinking about that too much. Not saying goodbye once haunted him, too, until today, even though there was no reason to become sentimental, but letting him go on his own needed some proper support. Especially in a place where spirits dwelled. His baker-friend loved telling him these stories whenever they drank a bottle of wine. Or when she tended his minor wounds. He remembered them vividly. The fear of the place claimed the people to such tremendous extend that they never returned to clean up the dead bodies. twenty-five years later, the skeletons rested there. The people mourned the losses with substitute remains.

Jack followed pointing fingers of other agents and found Jesse at the dusty archway toward a wide wasteland. It was hot, the sun burned Jack’s forehead, and the dry, hot wind carried sand all around the place. Jesse didn’t mind the climate. He wrinkled his nose though since the sun shun into is face as he saw Jack approach. He used his hand to shield himself from the sun and waited until Jack had arrived. They looked at each other for a while. Jesse smirked cheery.

“What is it? Don’t trust me?”

“I do.” Jack corrected him. “I just… be careful, alright?”

Jesse’s hand dropped and he slouched a little. “Bad weeds grow tall? After all this isn’t anything to worry about, so occupy your mind with something more important.”

Jesse patted his shoulder and rested his hand on there for a while. It was exactly that moment, July 7, seven thirty in the morning, that he noticed how much that man meant to him. So many things occurred right in this moment, everywhere all over the world, and he stood still and noticed how much he cared about this person. Maybe he knew it for a long time, but realizing how much he admired that face, now hidden behind the visor, the attitude, and the caring personality came late. Was that what love felt like? He blinked at Jack and then looked away because he couldn’t stand the silence. Jesse cleared his throat and fished for the necklace he wore. It was a charm his mother gave him to him. He bobbed his hand once and then put it around Jack’s neck. His hand patted it on his chest before he held Jack's face, kissing the other side. His lips lingered on the mask for a while. “Don’t lose it.”

“Oh, I won’t.” Jack knew what the necklace meant to Jesse, hence why astonishment left him motionless. Was he that special? “And don’t make a face for the few hours I’m going to be gone.”

“As you wish.” Jack said. The phrase weakened Jesse. He repeated it inside his head. _As you wish._ What and old way to tell someone they cared. He admired it and hid a smile.

Jesse nodded against his face. Then he let go. “See you later.”

Jack looked down to the necklace; he didn’t dare to touch it. The necklace was an artifact belonging to his family and not something to give to a fucking lover. At the same time, his heart pounded against his chest and he was happy to wear this god damn visor because otherwise he would have looked like a donkey. He felt giddy.

 

 

The silence of this region tormented senses and Jesse wondered why anybody would hide in the ruins of an abandoned city. Chimes clung and he stood still. Somewhere, a can fell and rolled on. The wind perhaps? A cat hissed and rushed away. Many years ago, this town was a merry place attracting tourists, nowadays it was a ghost town. Long-gone stories rattled through bones, spirits haunted the houses, and Jesse wished he would still have his mother’s amulet. He fumbled with his collar instead and snaked through alleys and former restaurants, now empty, with skeletons waiting for their last supper. He understood why people hated this place: silence. Silence stuck to it like a blanket on a hot day. Your face beneath it, inhaling the air through cotton. You can barely breathe. Sometimes, the chime returned, or a can, maybe a stray cat. Wind rushed through the alleys and sing-songs played tricks in the air.

Bones rattled again, a skull rolled along his feet and someone clicked his tongue as if they lured a dog to come closer. Whistling. He knew that melody. The wind rushed through the buildings and supported the crooning spy somewhere in these halls. An orchestra meant to confuse senses. Jesse beheld the skull and wondered to whom it belonged once. Bones told many stories.

Jesse froze in place and everything became louder, unsettling, and then unbearable. He shook his head and walked outside onto an atrium, staring into the sun and waiting for another sign. Movement to his right. He listened closely.

“Moving on?” A voice teased him. Jesse’s head tilted and he readied his revolver. Fingers danced on the shaft. “Do you want to play tag?”

Jesse jerked around and aimed at nothing. He knew this voice. Thousands of voices joined now and the comm in his ear beeped so loud, he groaned and declined the urge to pull it out. A sudden draft, a forceful push hauled him across the quadrangle and he landed on his butt with a loud thud. He complained and got back on his feet. Mist bedded him in cold and shrouded him in darkness. It reminded him on that memory of Jack’s and perhaps that gave him reason enough to fear some negative outcome of this assignment?

“You should not have come here.” The voice arose, and Jesse looked for the speaker. So, the haunting began, or should he blame it on the withdrawals? Jesse blinked confused. He found a shadow between two archways close to him. Just standing there while he tried to look through a wall of whirled up dust. He knew that voice but he wouldn’t want to say to whom it once belonged. It was rougher now, lower. Probably a trick. The darkness disappeared and someone stood before him. They looked like a nightmare, someone right out of a horrific dream. He wondered if that was intentional.

Jesse laughed unimpressed. “You really don't spare any expenses. Hiding out here, deploring some tools to do the dirty work for you. Why? Because you have a _dark agenda_?”

The person before him stepped back. They seemed irritated by the lack of understanding and even though they wore a mask, it was obvious they didn't feel any patience for the agent they had to deal with. Something hit Jesse in his lower regions. A stinging sensation that penetrated his lower back and he reached back to find a dart in there. Was this a dream? Another odd hide-and-seek with past events? It seemed all so funny and unreal as he pulled it out. Out of a sudden, the distance between him and the ghost was null and Jesse took a step back. He shot once and the bullet went right through his opposing company. They looked down at the bullet entry, and up at his face. The ghost held onto his weapon, now the gun was hot and burned right through Jesse's glove, but he didn’t let go.

Jesse grimaced. _He was dreaming._ Before he could decide if this truly happened, or if he dreamed, something strong and intense hit his chest. Everything moved slow, and the pain began on his upper sternum, spread to his neck, and ended on his back as he landed against a wall. He looked up and there was this unfamiliar face. Not the one he saw before. Someone new, someone he could not recall. Was it the ghost? He tried to catch a glimpse on his side, and found them still standing there.

Someone paced around him like a hungry predator. A slick cat of prey, circling a little lost jackal. Jesse blinked his eyes and looked through the sand, whirled up by a strong breeze. Nobody spoke. The ghost was gone. Of course, Jesse recognized that voice: soothing, whenever he needed to calm down. He closed his eyes and blamed his mind for it.

“Pride. Pride always corrupted you. In the end, there was betrayal and a cold, small room. Do you remember that?” Another voice appeared with a softer sound, a tenor, not a bass.

Jesse didn’t understand what he meant and tried a different approach. If he couldn’t shoot him, could he at least distract him to find enough time to contact Liliana? It needed more than a man with a gun to take this guy down. Before he could act, he was back right in front of his face, and Jesse pushed him off which worked surprisingly well. He found a makeshift weapon in the former stick of a broom and attempted to exhaust the other one, if that was possible.

“Do you want to play?” The other one joked. “Okay.”

He blocked Jesse’s haul and pushed him against a wall. Jesse kicked him off again and received a couple of punches before catching his breath. He laughed flat. “Oh, man. It takes more than that.”

The other one disappeared and showed up behind him, grabbed him by his throat and the sharp tips of his gloves cut through the skin. Jesse gasped at the unexpected turn of events and his hand shot up to the other one’s wrist. He pushed Jesse back against the wall, but this time with a tight grip. Jesse could tell he watched him bleed and he swallowed. He inhaled and gathered energy for another defensive move. Instead, the one he was supposed to hunt down, hunted him, and hauled Jesse against another, nearby wall. Jesse slid down the wall and rose his brows blinking. He rolled around to get on his feet, but the other one reached out for the collar in his neck and pulled him back out on the atrium. Jesse was overpowered and he acknowledged that, but he didn’t accept it. He left a trail in the sand and the broken ceramic vases and other, sharp items cut through his clothes as his company dragged him ahead. He dropped Jesse and stood there, looking down at him. Jesse spit blood on the ground.

“You have issues.” Jesse said deadpan.

“I do have them. My biggest issue are people who believe to be righteous and honorable to their own advantage and then sell everyone out for a good laugh.”

He grabbed Jesse’s face. “You don’t remember?”

Jesse winced and urged to move away, find something to defend himself, and get rid of the feeling that he was talking to Gabriel earlier. _Fucking ghosts_. His mother always warned him about ghosts, of haunted lands, of the spirits hidden between walls.

“Running away from your problems?” The other one noticed and taunted him. Gabriel taught him how to fight. Every little move, and he forgot it all. Jesse wanted him to stop playing games with his mind. Reality vanished and a tormenting darkness left him in a stupor. Lying in the sun rather than fighting back, he considered things he did some hours ago. He tried to look about and found nobody.

“Son of a b—“ He rolled around onto his knees and stood on two insecure legs. “What the fuck?”

Jesse tested his comm, but the wind interfered. Off and on, trying to transmit a voice but it was useless. Instead, he talked to one of the ghosts. “Hey, you’re hiding now? Why?”

Gabriel told him once to face his fears, which was bullshit, but he did try sometimes. Darkness—he hated darkness. Closed rooms. Sleeping. So, he faced his fears and found himself elated for a moment. After a while, they came back. He started talking to the ghost because it would strip him off his powers. Ghosts weren’t scary, they weren’t real. Jesse got hit by force and landed on the other side, next to an alley, and gave up.

“Okay, you win. What do you want?” The grip returned on his throat. There wasn’t more physical violence, just pictures flooding his confused mind and he winced annoyed. “Fear.” The other one whispered. “Do you feel it?”

Jesse did but acted stubborn. “If you kill me, you won’t get very far. You know that, yeah? I mean you try! I tried that, too. Didn’t work.”

“What if that is what I want, and nothing else but that? Why would I care about consequences?”

Someone joined them and Jesse didn’t want that, because for the first time in his life he wanted to do that on his own. To win some damn fight and not constantly rely on others. Something lashed, it sounded like a lasso and he laughed. The ghost was gone and so was Jesse’s strength. He coughed up blood and spit it out. He looked up and back toward the atrium: he left a trail of blood.

“That’s embarrassing.” He stammered and tried to get up. Jesse was in a strange state of mind. A child, like Alice, stuck in a magic forest. A white bunny poked its head around the corner of a house. Jesse looked at it. Now, it was a hare with a wiggling nose. Was the ghost gone? Who chased him away? Jesse’s chest heaved and the light blinded him. He wanted to release a roaring scream, but that never happened. He was angry and somewhat terrified because he felt cold and weak, he shouldn’t since it was hot out here.

Someone slid over to him, guarding him with his body and scanning the area. Was the ghost scared of him? After some time, he noticed it was Jack and that, too, seemed pretty funny to Jesse. A delirium befuddled his mind. Jack himself wasn’t amused. He pulled Jesse off the ground and held his head up with one hand, the other one searched for the most fatal of his wounds. Jesse pointed to the necklace. “It worked, didn’t it?”

Jack cringed and swore silently. He took off his visor and looked at Jesse. “Hey, look at me.” Jesse did so and Jack couldn’t stand the bloody face and the weak body under him, a tired hand tried to find his but failed and dropped on a barely moving chest. “Focus.”

Jesse agreed meek, but he closed his eyes. “You’re very handsome.” He murmured. Jack frowned and waited for the backup to finally get here. It wouldn’t take long, but maybe these few minutes weren’t enough. He quickly tried to tend to the wounds on Jesse’s neck and one on his arm which were the reason for the blood loss. All while holding Jesse, with a wobbly head and a bleak face, against his chest. Jesse’s hand reached for the necklace, and the index finger crooked, hooking it without strength.

“You know,” Jesse kept talking, no matter how defeated he felt. “I always loved you very much.”

Jack’s moves froze and his chin twitched. He looked up and inhaled. _Please don’t leave me, too._

“Stay with me, okay.” He spoke through clenched teeth and tried to rid himself of misty eyes. Jesse tried to agree and his hand dropped from the necklace on his stomach. A shuttle neared and Jack wanted to make sure Jesse was on it, then hunt down this ghost. It was all he wanted. Fear and sadness vanished and fury replaced them. Jack looked back to the atrium where a tall shadow towered across dry soil. He stared and stared and time stood still. The shuttle behind him whirled up more sand, bones rattled louder, cats ran away. Someone touched his shoulder and called him by his name. Angela kept doing so until Jack let go off Jesse. Her eyes locked his and she saw that pain she felt once herself when she lost her parents. She talked to him and nothing went through and he just crouched there and followed the bloody trail again.

There was one shuttle, another would take a few minutes. Angela watched him stand and follow that trail. “Jack!” She yelled stern. He granted her no reply and so she looked down at Jesse and made the decision that he needed the transport immediately.

Meanwhile, Jack walked on and his eyes scanned the place. Where the fuck was the ghost hiding? “Why don't you just fuck yourself? You fucking coward.”

Someone hummed a song, a different song he remembered. And another old song he liked very much when he was younger. “They don't care about you.” The voice returned behind him and he dropped his rifle. If he had to fight in self-defense, he would do so. Jack didn't care if that meant being at a disadvantage. Would a rifle really help with this? Some of his memories were lost. The dreams he had, the things he apparently experienced here – he couldn't remember. Jack woke up light-headed and covered in cold sweat somewhere. He didn't remember how he got there, wounds of battles he couldn't recall. Sometimes, he did things for no reason.

Jack turned to face him and the ghost stood there unabashed. Instead of his rifle, he pulled his hand gun and poked the mask's forehead with it. “Hey, Jack, where you going with that gun in your hand?”

He wanted to pull the trigger, but somehow he couldn't. And the ghost knew it wouldn't change much, anyway. “That won't do much. Try it.” The ghost's hands cupped his one aiming hand and when Jack wanted to add his other one for support, as he was supposed to, the gloved hands pushed his slowly aside. Few seconds later, the ghost took off his mask. Jack stood still and watched him do so. Freezing before a scarred face, or what remained of it. A ruin akin to the ones he stood in. Something he remembered. A pair of eyes, now red and harrowing.

He scoffed, shook his head and opened his mouth flabbergasted.

“You should go; this is not the right place for a boy scout.” The ghost whispered.

 

 

Hours later, many of them, Hanzo stared at the back of a man paralyzed and wordless who kept monitoring a few clumsy puppies tumbling about. Hanzo needed a lot of skill to find him here in the suburbs of a bustling city. Just there, breathing, holding onto his jacket while his eyes were blank little canvases. He reached out to touch Jack's back. He didn't even flinch.

“Hey,” He said, perfectly laid-back. Jack pointed at the young dogs. Hanzo followed the hand and found one particular interested in them. “I was looking for you.”

“I know.” Finally words made it out of his mouth and he swallowed dry.

“Would you like to come with me then?” Hanzo said. He kept his hand on his back and hoped that would increase his words' power. Strengthen them enough to make Jack do as he asked, but to no avail.

“No.” Jack wrinkled his brow. “I do not want to come with you. I'm done.”

“Jesse is...” Before Hanzo could finish, Jack rose his hand in a dismissive gesture. “I don't want to hear it.”

Hanzo licked his lips and grabbed the fabric of Jack's shirt. “He is doing... good.” He lied, but he wanted Jack to stop acting like this because it caused discomfort. Then Jack walked on and Hanzo let him go. He could keep an eye on him from here since he didn't walk fast. Instead, he eyed the small dog down there and exchange a quick look with the woman who sold them. Old enough to leave their mother, the puppies attracted a couple of neighbors and they all expelled the weirdest noises. Before he could admire the puppy enough, he returned to Jack.

He understood this, whatever it was he felt right now because words weren't yet invented to describe this heap of emotion lunging at his chest and ripping it apart. Even if they were, no words could describe it in any way. Every little inch of his body numbed down, no sensations, nothing could wake them up. Consistent numbness. It took a while for it to pass. Nothing really mattered anymore. Time passed and some sense of reality remained as he just walked on.

Once, long ago, Hanzo had the exact same feeling. There was a meeting and his father demanded him to attend. He left the meeting, his suit bloody. Why did he decide to wear a bright colored suit anyway? He just walked, boarded the metro, and stood in the midst of people who stared at him. Then he left and walked on, and he didn't stop until an elderly woman stood before him. She looked up and down, didn't ask questions and took his hand into her wrinkly, strong limb. He could feel rings pressed onto his palm. Then he fell asleep, while being awake. He sleepwalked and found himself in a place he never saw before. A blanket warmed his shoulders, strands of hair in his face, steam rose from a cup of tea before him. Nothing else he remembered from that night and he never returned home after that.

Was that woman real or someone he made up?

Was that ghost real or someone Jack made up? Hanzo, familiar with the memories of Jack's, couldn't say if those were caused by his mind which underwent some trauma or if these images were recorded true events. So, he sat down with him at the clinic once they arrived. Jack on a seat, Hanzo crouched before him and tracked his eye movement until Jack replied to it. Jack rubbed his face as though he woke out of a long nap. Unwanted. A noise disrupted dreams and he blinked his eyes.

“Who was there?” Hanzo inquired, helping Jack remembering.

Jack narrowed his lips. “I don't know. Someone with a mask.”

“Someone with a mask, huh. Someone you know?”

“No,” Jack shook his head and leaned back with his hands, palm on palm, between his slightly spread thighs. “No one I know, because that someone is dead.”

Hanzo nodded and moved up to sit on the chair next to him. People walked passed them in the hallway, an announcement asked for a name. “Are you sure?”

Jack chuckled sardonic. “We can't be sure of that anymore, can we? Everyone believed that I was dead, too, right? I'm not. Maybe he isn't dead. Maybe he is still alive. Who knows?”

Hanzo followed the uttered words. Short, mumbled sentences. “We have to find out. Something's not right.”

“No, nothing is right.” Jack growled and seemed to fully wake up. He stood and without any word, moved ahead to find Angela because he remembered she was there when he found Jesse, and she was the one to know how he did. Hanzo let him go. He remained here and guarded the hallway while Jack entered her laboratory which alarmed her right away. Angela stopped right before him and examined him with devoted intensity. No detail escaped her attentive eyes, as once finished, she touched his shoulders and navigated him around. “Let's have a coffee.”

“I don't want coffee.” Jack replied angry.

“Yes, Jack, we are going to get you something to drink because you look dehydrated.” She shuffled ahead with him and they ended up in the nurses' staff break room. She closed the door and made him sit down. These rooms always gave her a great, calm feeling, and the smell off coffee roused her enough to gather new ideas. She loved these rooms for their homely vibe and the faces that she found her often. Angela filled one cup of coffee – sugar, no milk, both of them liked it like that – and one with water. Then she sat next to him and placed both between them. Jack and her spent a lot of time together from back in the days when she met him, he still belonged to the medical staff. His last days among them, she recalled. Hence why they bonded from the beginning. They had a lot in common. _They say I'm too idealistic,_ she said once. Jack replied with a smile and a sloppy shrug. _Nothing wrong with an idealist,_ he said cocky. Now, what changed. Ten years later, he wasn't an idealist anymore. His hair turned gray at thirty-four, his wits became bleaker, somewhat more cynical. Jack always seemed so impressed by her inventive mind, it made her smile.

Now he sat there: his elbow on the table, hand rolled into a loose fist, mouth leaning against it. The other hand reached out for the plastic cup with water and he played with it.

“When you think someone's dead and they apparently aren't, that's weird, isn't it?” He thought aloud. Angela snorted short. “Yeah, it is.”

Jack noticed his own hypocrisy. “I'm sorry.”

Angela patted the arm on her side, the one which lay on the tabletop, the fingers tending tot he cup. She felt the moves under her palm through his jacket. He looked at her hand. “I truly am sorry.”

She nodded.

“I always seem to endanger those who I love the most, whether that's a friend or something else. No matter what I do, I drag them into a pile of shit I created. Here they thought I'd make a good poster boy for their cause, but I was just a frantic little boy with an idealistic plan to save the world from some fucking machines.” He frowned and his brow ruffled. “Didn't work. Of course it didn't.”

“It's not your fault.”

“No? It's not my fault that everyone is in a fucked up place? Or dead?”

“I always told myself the same thing when someone died and I wish I could have saved their life. I go beyond of what I can do, but sometimes, that isn't enough. You, too, knew that once.”

“I know shit.” He wanted to drink, but his throat felt too sore.

“Now, you've got me again to remind you on how much you do know, Jack.” She attempted to make the moment lighter with her optimism. Jack admired that. She was too good for this world. And then he felt bad for lying to her again. It was a damned circle of self-hatred. Angela noticed.

“Jesse is not doing bad. He is sleeping. If you want, I can bring you there. No visitors allowed yet, though, so don't tell anyone.” She patted his arm again and stood. “Drink your water, I'll be right back.”

 

 

Sometime later, she led him to the room and left them alone. Not only because her duties made her, but because she thought to be polite. Jack listened to the door closing behind him and looked at the blood bag there. A repetitive beep resounded. He didn't want to look at him because he could tell how he would be doing. He hated having medical knowledge dashing through his faux optimism, telling him he had no reason to stop worrying and remain anxious about someone's state.

Jack sat down on the edge of the bed and listened to the beep. He counted to ten, and started over again. While studying the person next to him, he did not think that the ghost did this. Who else would hold a grudge against him so deeply that they found his death worthwhile? Jack thought about that. He doubted that anything of what they did in the past weeks solved problems, but instead it created more. If someone was to distract them from something else, where will he have to look? Former Deadlocks? Unfinished business? Jack moved to lean back and sit more comfortably, taking Jesse's right hand. He held it on his lap and waited for something to happen.

Maybe a miracle. Some sort of answer. Jack didn't believe in miracles.

 

* * *

 

_L_ _ynx people camped on the land, which was prosperous and beautiful beneath a wide range of mountains. The sun settled early that day, and during these short days, when the sun was eager to sleep, a cannibal found cover in the darkness of a long night. The people settled anyway, unafraid of the rabbit, and watched the days go by side by side with their children. Soon, though, they needed to hunt. Their children had to grow strong and only a full stomach would make them become strong. Scared of leaving them behind, as they went hunting to feed their youngsters, they warned them about Achaanwaanpush. It was only right to tell them of the dangers lurking in the dark. They told them to be careful, and to treat him right when he came to visit. “Don't scratch him too hard,” they said, “because he is greedy. If he becomes greedy, defend yourself and don't hesitate.” The older left, and the youngsters stayed behind._

_And then Achaanwaanpush came and told the children to make a fire, to warm the teepee, an to scratch his back. They did as he said, settled down beside him, and scratched his back with their soft paws. The rabbit soon demanded more, and asked them to use their claws. They did so, and they ripped the back of the cannibal open. When their elders returned home from the hunt, they saw the rabbit's trail leading home. Afraid and anxious that something happened to their children, they hurried onward and found the camp empty and silent. They searched and searched until they found the teepee where the rabbit lay, and the children licked their paws. They said: we defended ourselves from the monster, as you told us, and defeated him._

 

 


	14. As the moon settled for the night, the wolf and the lion nursed the jackal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack causes some trouble in the hospital, and Hanzo attempts to find the last clues while simultaneously setting his own struggles aside to aid two people who are in need.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all:  
> Almost three months late with a Starbucks.  
> School had me scream and cry for two months, and then I lost my muse when I left the final exam. After coming back, I needed one (1) month to cope.
> 
> Now, it happened that Moira was released and finally, the assumptions I made for months are affirmed and I have the missing plot point I admit to struggle with. At least, you know, those are my ideas about how things went.  
> I also think that I will slowly make my way to complete this fic with an additional couple (maybe 3) chapters, so that I can focus on other fics I wanted to write (the, what I call, prequel of this story and if you are interested, just let me know I guess?), and college.
> 
> Again: thank you for reading and for sticking with me, I appreciate the time you spent on here, giving me supporting comments and kudos. Means a lot to me. :) I hope this is not boring.
> 
>  
> 
> Content warnings:  
> Some mention of gore, trauma, angst, the usual stuff. A sex scene. 
> 
> Here are some links that inspired me or things I quoted:  
> [1](http://castiel-knight-of-hell.tumblr.com/post/143910369254/practice-safe-sex-tie-your-partner-down-to-the>x</A>%0A%0A<A%20HREF=)  
> [2](https://polypuns.tumblr.com/post/133620126466/what-do-you-call-a-medieval-weaponry-shop-run-by)
> 
>  
> 
> But this is McHanzo76, so here you go! ;)

_“_ We are each our own devil, and we make this world our hell.” _  
_ _―_ [ **Oscar Wilde** ](https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/3565.Oscar_Wilde)

 

_Sometimes, when life is cruel, you think to yourself and ask: why is life so cruel? It shouldn't be. Life and people should be thankful for roaming the world and meeting each other, and yet the world is a heap of shit. When you walk through a city, you wonder how people can keep up with themselves, yourself included. But how do we keep up with ourselves? Long gone are the days when we did not use as much introspection, because we could be whomever we want when we were children. Nobody would try to correct you, everyone would just wave it off as something typical for a kid. Then you grow up and you have to be this and that, and out of a sudden, the day you turn 18, everything is expected from you. Be this, do that, say this, learn that. Within the wink of an eye you are suddenly recognized and valuable to a bucket full of eels. You can walk away, but where do you go?_

 

A rabbit sat there, lurking around the corner. The eyes red, bedded in black fur. Was it fur? It ran away. He wanted to follow the rabbit but he could not move, and neither could he speak. Someone held his head in two hands, breathing onto his face and mist made him feel cold. He shivered and closed his weary eyes because he couldn't handle the cold. His hands touched ghostly wrists; strange, that feeling, almost as if they were real. _Why don't you let me go?_ A child cried, someone unloaded a gun. _Seven, six, five._ A voice counted down and a child covered his eyes. _Bang!_

Jesse woke up startled. He hated dreaming. Exhaustion pressed him onto a rather soft mattress, white cotton covered his body. His head rocked up and down on a moving chest, which made his dizziness a little more bearable. Jack fell asleep after napping for short periods in three days. Finally. He thought that Jesse needed something more comfortable than the pillow they gave to him, and Jack needed a blanket. Jesse still felt cold; he lost a lot of blood due to a multitude of trauma.

His eyes were too heavy to keep them open, and so he used his ears to navigate. A beep. Someone else's breath. A heartbeat beneath his ear. For how long did he sleep? He grunted and moved his hand to join his head on the chest, but then he quit because he wore out too quickly. Jack noticed and opened one eye to peek down on him. His hand traveled to the brown tuft and he counted the few grey hairs in there, hidden beneath many layers of color. Age. Experience. Yet, there he found nothing that could have prepared him for this.  Jack felt sore, though, and wished to move into a position that didn’t feel entirely uncomfortable. He noticed every single bone of his fragile construction and every muscle felt sore.

He dozed off again and his half opened eyes watched dust particles float in the air. Exhaustion painted pictures in the air; the silhouette of a man stood motionless at the end of the bed. He turned around and stared at him. _Why did you do this?_ Jack heard himself. Gabriel didn’t answer him and so he repeated his question three times until he exclaimed a loud “ _Why?_ ” Jack closed his eyes after an annoyed frown.

 

_The fields were wet and murky. Somewhere there were military vehicles with their engines still running and people foraged through the few tents assembled across a small area. Jack watched the tense back of someone in short distance. The wind rattled through the tents and the walls shivered. He watched a hand roll into a fist. Jack stood between him and another high ranking military individual. He did not care because what he cared about did not matter, as he was not one of them, just a nurse collecting tears, bullets, and sad stories. A sharp inhale when words fell. A screaming storm of disappointment caught him off guard. He blinked and looked at Gabriel, and even though he did not see his face, he did know exactly what it looked like right now. Irritated, most likely, ready to jump to his defence._

_Today was an eventful day: people died, all kinds of people, and Gabriel has been in charge of the move, and he lost so many. ‘Did you kill them?’ The other soldier asked, addressing a couple of people who tried to become an obstacle for the soldiers doing whatever they were told to do. Did he kill them? Gabriel rolled his fist tighter and moved around, lunging at the other man. One hand on his collar, the other on his arm. ‘Did I do what? Are you fucking kidding me? They are people.’ His voice resembled thunder, the thunder which rolled through the area just a few hours ago. He looked bad with his own blood and that of others all over his face and uniform. He needed medical attention which was why Jack came here. Maybe a little bit of reassurement as well. Or just some distracting words. The yelling continued and Jack looked down. He did not know if it was inadequate to interrupt two high ranked soldiers in their fight. Not until Gabriel punched his colleague’s face, whether that was to be deserved was not something for Jack to decide, but he understood that the death of friends gnawed on everyone’s mind. He lost almost everyone. Why would he do something like punching someone? Because he had reason. Some time passed and the yelling subsided, the rage remained when he left them alone and Gabriel strutted around like a teased bull. Jack stepped forward and put a hand on his shoulder from behind, Gabriel exhaled and looked at him. Heavy eyes rested beneath a foggy curtain and blood covered every other expression he attempted to create._

_‘You should let me check that out.’ Jack gestured all across Gabriel’s form and dropped his hand. Gabriel nodded and looked away. ‘What you must think of me now…’ Gabriel pointed to the fight._

_Jack shrugged and searched for utensils in his satchel. ‘You have got your reasons, I assume.’_

_‘Huh.’ Gabriel smirked. ‘Yeah. My reasons.’ Then he smiled and it was odd seeing that right in this moment. It was like a Dali in the middle of Rembrandts. A mouse amongst foxes. Jack tried to smile back and decided to remain silent instead of saying some faux-uplifting words. He then focused on moving on to his many wounds, not knowing where to start and as he reached out, Gabriel took the mending hand in both of his. One patted the top while he said ‘Funny, how you always stand by me.’_

_‘That is my job.’_

Rumbling woke him eventually and the pictures faded into a whirlwind of black leaves, which made him moan and grumble. He needed to walk. Jack carefully moved away from a sleeping Jesse and sat on the edge of the bed rubbing his stubbly cheeks. More noises outside. Something inside his head hurt. His comm beeped and he turned it off. Jack stood and walked out to get himself a cup of the disgusting coffee they serve here and as he went out, he found the source of the noise: someone ran into a cart with food, which covered half of the hallway. Two nurses were quick to reassemble the whole thing and Jack avoided the urge to help them. He was not in the mood for it. The coffee machine stood there and it lured him ahead. Once arrived, he stopped and filled a cup by pushing a button, staring off into space as the machine did its job. Someone stared at him, he knew it, that feeling of seering eyes locked on his body. Jack exhaled and turned his head to find the onlooker. His eyes scanned and scanned until they found the possible target: a man, black hair, green eyes -- he didn’t fit in here. How? Jack picked up the coffee and sipped on it. The stranger tapped on his ear, gesturing Jack to turn on his comm device. He was curious, although stubborn as he was hated to give in to other people’s commands. His curiosity won, and he turned it on.

“ _How was your meeting with the long lost lover, my friend? Did you enjoy it?”_

Jack grimaced and tilted his head. _Wrong question._ “ _I know someone who would like to talk to you, in fact, she is very eager to._ ”

He groaned at a compulsive memory. _I did this to protect you. That is why._ His sight glitched and he found himself embedded in darkness and only the voice percolated through the thick mist. Jack growled like a trapped animal and roused the attention of a nurse next to him. His hand smashed the cup on the table and he twisted on his heel around to approach the stranger. Not patient, though, and neither very thoughtful. He bumped into a few people while doing so and found out that his recent conversational partner tried to elope with speed. People expelled several words taken aback by the sudden ado. Did he really think that Jack would behave inside a hospital?

He caught up on him and grabbed him by both shoulders. Two synchronized hits, a strong pull, and a loud thud as someone hit a wall. People jumped alert and confused. Jack followed him, who tried to counter him but he missed the great enhancements Jack endured two decades ago. He grabbed him again to punch him once, and then to punch him twice. After that, he pulled him up against the wall behind him, holding him by his throat. “Who the fuck are you talking about?” He knew whom he talked about.

“You know, Morrison, you know.” The stranger laughed. How stupid of him to come here, unless it was a game. She was good at those. The stranger whistled a melody knowing what it did to Jack’s mind and he punched him again before dragging him to a window, which he opened. People behind them just stared in awe, retreated, or tried guessing what to be doing. One of them appeared smart enough to find someone to solve this problem.

“You tell me who she is or I will toss you out there myself. It’s seven levels. Long enough for you to feel it.”

“Don’t kid yourself -- you are going to back off, because of your goddamn morals. I will end up in a lit room until lawyers come in. You know what is most important though? That you’re an old nutjob who is trying to manipulate the whole thing for his own good. Whom are they going to believe?”

Jack scoffed. A charming smile took over for a mere moment, until it died off and he picked him up and pushed him across the sill. The agent, or whatever he was, yelled in sudden terror. “I might be a nutjob, but I’m also really fucking tired of being underestimated.”

“What is going on here?” Leliana showed up, as usual in the middle of something Jack was busy with. Her gun pointed at him and she looked ready to shoot. Jack felt two hands on his wrists. He looked down at the dangling man and turned his head. “I hope that three seconds enough for your boss to understand that I don't fucking care what she is trying. Give her my regards.”

“Jack, let him go.” Leliana said, it was not the most fitting thing to command. She realized that right after saying so.

Jack did so and raised his hands as it was protocol. He moved them behind his head and cocked one of his brows at Leliana, who in return glared at him. The entire hallway succumbed to silence. Seven levels below, people stared at a more or less stimulating view.

 

 

 

 

_Stars shining bright above you, night breezes seem to whisper ‘I love you’, birds singing in the sycamore tree, dream a little dream of me…_ Hanzo walked through the hallway whistling to himself since that distracted him from stressors, it was lit up, messy, loud, chaotic. He heard a voice somewhere asking what happened, and he stopped, remaining in the spot from where he would have a good enough view. There was a threat, and someone eliminated it. He did as she asked him to. Leliana groaned overloaded and dismissed him, telling people to investigate the yet anonymous invader.

Hanzo watched Jack walking off the scene, and tracked him until they both ended up outside, on an empty platform between crates and other temporarily abandoned items scattered around. Downstairs, people still bustled to clean up the mess he made. Jack found a pack of cigarettes there and picked it up. He didn’t smoke for thirty years, and it was one cigarette offered to him when he was stressed out. Or overstimulated. Both had the same effect on him. Hanzo wanted to watch him for a while, with the moonlight on his face and the exposed arms even greyer than usual. Then he noticed the desire to smoke, and his hand moved around to remove it. “What are you doing? Are you ten years old?”

Jack’s head shot around and watched the cigarette follow the same path as the stranger earlier this day. “Do ten-year-olds throw people out of windows and then go for a smoke?”

“Hm.” Hanzo remarked with a judgemental face. Jack licked his lips and peeked across the area. He noticed Hanzo moving in because of the warmth on his nude arms, not because he heard it. Their arms grazed each other; he smelled his fragrance. Musky. He smelled like a forest’s petrichor. That made Jack chuckle silently.

“Who was that?” Hanzo nodded toward the spot where only a faint blood stain remained.

“I don’t know.”

“Don’t lie to me.” Hanzo insisted.

“You read the files I gave to Jesse, so you know what it is about.” Jack exhaled and picked up another cigarette, to Hanzo’s displeasure.

“I have read some, not all, because he made sure that only certain information is passed through. Are you willing to share the rest with me?” Hanzo waited. He wanted him to talk and unburden himself.

“Not here.” Jack coughed at the smoke and looked at the cigarette as though he made a grave mistake.

“Do you want to take a break then?” Hanzo looked at him. “You could use some good night’s rest.”

Jack found it funny that it was him saying such a thing. “How is Jesse?”

“Stable. Resting. In good hands.” Hanzo nodded. “Enough reason to spare a few hours and lay down, maybe take a shower, too?”

Jack lowered with an offended face to distract from what went on inside his head. Sleep would not solve anything, it would just stress him more than anything else. Dreams did not work as a cure this time, and he wanted to avoid any more memories. After all, he wasn’t sure if they removed that awful device off Jesse yet, or if his memories still appeared to him, as well. Every memory trigger showed on his mind, and he knew how to hide this fact, but Jack felt too exposed. When the cigarette was done and Jack battled with the disgusting taste on his tongue, he gave up and did as Hanzo asked him to. Following him, taking an anxiety-causing shower and staring at himself in a steamed up mirror after wiping most off of it. He sat on the edge of the bed and the soft blanket and sheets embraced him in something that almost felt comfortable. Food, he smelled food.

Hanzo offered him a bowl of soup but Jack declined. He pushed it into his palm and sat down next to him. The mattress sunk under their combined weight and Jack stared at the bowl.

“Everyone thinks that it all broke apart because we have had different views and ideals, because I got the position he wanted, and he was the bad guy to blame for everything.” Jack said. Hanzo did not speak, because he wanted to listen. Chances were big that he never talked about it, and he wanted him to do so. “They believed he got the other part because they were afraid he would do something stupid. It’s all bullshit. I never wanted the job, he made me do it. I wanted to decline the offer, he made me keep it. In all that, people forgot who he was. Which did not matter, because we were both forgotten after a while and all that mattered was what we did -- every little thing. Someday, he made a decision and I never understood why. Some sort of utilitarian belief that the sacrifice of one person would save many more. You know, he offered himself to be a lab dog for someone, and you know what he said? He wanted to protect me.” Jack laughed bitter and tasted the soup.

“I thought he was dead at first, but the more years passed, the more I developed doubt toward that belief. The more I remembered, the more I understood. He is not dead, and now I know for sure.”

“You saw him?”

“Yes.” He ate the soup and did not say more. Hanzo tried to understand, and he thought that he did. Eventually, a name popped up and he constructed an understanding. Funny, so he thought, because it did contradict a lot of things he read before.

“He did this because he wanted to preserve the world for the people he loved, because he lost too many already, and he thought that if it took him away, then it should be so. Now, what is left of it? Nothing.”

Hanzo placed his hand on Jack’s thigh. “After all, he succeeded in protecting you, as you are still here.”

Jack nodded weak. “Sadly so.” He whispered. “I wish life spared him and took me instead, as I never wanted any of it.”

“Don’t talk like that.” Hanzo squeezed the thigh and stood to fix himself a glass of something that made his headache vanish. He couldn’t, however, as a demanding hand gripped his forearm and held him in place. Jack didn’t know why he did that.

“That is a nice soup.”

“It has its moments of rudeness, but yes, overall, it is very nice.” Hanzo replied.

Jack shook his head and pulled him closer, to nestle his head against his stomach and hide in the fabric of his black shirt. Hanzo’s hands accompanied the head and held it in place. “You do need some sleep, don’t you.”

He gave up on protesting the fact that Hanzo seemed to be correct concerning his need of sleep. Exhausted, he lay down and hid deep below the blanket. Hiding from the world, as though he swam in deep blue waters where the sunlight tried to fight through. The light, filtering through the water, broken down into rays. There was no sunlight under the blanket.

“Some years ago, after everything that happened,” Hanzo spoke silent, yet too loud to be whisper, “I went to a place to find peace. Not the kind I have found in the hands of an elder woman, not the calm she tried to convince me of with one of her teas. An everlasting peace. And I went there, and saw all the people who came before me. People whom some claim to be cowards or to be selfish. I felt this that day, but for different reasons. However gloomy my life may have seemed, it never equaled their pain, hence why I felt wrong for going there. I passed a few, and I returned. I tried to find out who they were, and I partially succeeded. There was this girl from Sendai, and a man from Okoyama. Another one I forgot where they were from. I left everything behind and visited a bakery, to buy her favorite cake, and one of his favorite books. It felt as though I took them with me in a way, and did the things they cherished. In a way, letting them live on. You might find that silly. But somehow, it might have put their souls to rest. Give them something they could not find alone.”

A hand carefully caressed his back and a face lay on top of his. Jack sighed. “That is not silly.” Jack replied in a weak whisper. It was dark and warm and he fell asleep few minutes after some distractive thoughts. Hanzo watched him fall asleep. Nobody deserved to have thoughts like those, and yet he knew what they felt like.

 

 

 

When morning came too early, Jesse woke up alone in a hospital room. He looked around with heavy lids and found out that someone stood near his bed, turning their head as he opened his eyes.

“Good morning,” Angela said, “How are you feeling?”

_Such a cliché thing to ask._ “Good.” His voice cracked.

Jesse’s eyes wandered to his arm and he wished the metal was gone. He hated it. Always did. Why? He could not say. Angela checked on him in silence and he snuck glances at her. Slowly, everything came back to   mind,  and he closed his eyes again. He did not feel anything at all and this terrified him. Out of a sudden, he wanted to run away and hide from whom he was and what he did. A flow of memories unloaded above him like freezing cold water, and made him scream.

He grunted and moved his bionic arm enough to gain her full attention. “Can you take this off?”

Angela frowned. “No, I can’t just take it off.” She rested her eyes on his face. “Why? Does it hurt?”

He shook his head. “It annoys me.”

She rose her chin and continued writing on her pad. “I did my best to turn off that device they implanted a while ago. It will take some time until we can fully remove it.”

Angela found that it caused too much stress as he already went through enough, and it would not help his recovery. The corner of his mouth twitched in a non-verbal gesture of gratitude. With his eyes still closed, he made a fist and swallowed dry. He remembered that day he lost his arm made of flesh and blood. Somewhere there, in the midst of a fight. He used to like working alone, he tended to be more productive that way. That day, as Jack Morrison himself came down there to find him. Jesse never thought he was that important. He came to find him and he did, as Morrison always did as much as every other promise he kept. Jack crouched in front of him and grabbed his arm with both hands, trying to minimize the bleeding like the real nurse that he was. He talked to him, too, trying to lift his spirits and calm him down, keep him conscious and remind him that everything will be fine. Jesse was thirty back then, a grown-up man with history, ripe with experience, but he felt like a small puppy someone kicked over. It was that day that he understood why Gabriel loved Jack so much despite everything which has happened. It was that particular moment that Jesse felt the exact same for him. When he fell in love with someone whom, as he believed, should never know that he did. Days later, he woke up and he felt embarrassed by those feelings and blamed his injuries and blood loss on it. That sudden surge of euphoria before one thought this would be the ultimate end. Some sort of mania taking over his mind, remembering how things tended to be and how great they could be. Some time later, he felt bad for it. A thing that did not ever change, though, was the feeling he henceforth had when he saw him.

God, he wished that he were here.

“Where is Jack?” He prattled weak due to his medication.

Angela gave him a look. Her brow shot up. “Sleeping, I guess.” She did not dare ask more. “You want me to fetch him for you?”

“Thanks.” Was all he could come up with. He noticed her hand on his head, softly caressing his brow with her cool thumb. “Of course.” She replied and went to fulfill his wish.

He dozed off and remembered the days when most everything was fine, whenever something hurt and someone came to fix it. He needed fixing. Someone to sew and stitch, to fill the holes on a broken plaid. He was one assembled of many fabrics, by many hands over several generations. Broken now, and incapable of warming the one beneath it. Someone ought to grab a new layer of fabric and make it better, because his hands were too stiff to do it by himself. A warm touch on his cheek a while later reminded him that he still knew what comfort was, and he opened his eyes to find two concerned blue eyes resting on him. _What tragedy held captive in there, someone set it free._

“Can I go somewhere else?” Jesse asked. Angela, still in the room, replied: “No.”

Jack chuckled and she gave them privacy. Jesse’s eyes closed beneath the weight of gloomy sadness. “I hate hospitals.” He whispered.

“As do I,” Jack replied, “Though it is necessary.”

“Hm,” Jesse nodded with a fake smile. His lips curled and a careful hand wiped his hair off a cool forehead. “Can you…” He moved his hand slightly toward Jack.

“Can I what?”

Jesse’s hand searched for something to hold onto in the dark of his covered eyes, finding his shirt and pulling him closer. “Nurse me.”

Jack arched one brow and nodded his chin, hovering his lips over Jesse’s. “Sure.” Then he kissed them carefully before pulling back. He sat on the bed next to him in a laid back manner, one arm around him to make this surrounding more bearable.

“You want me to read to you?”

“Eh,” Jesse made a face. “Nah.”

Jack held onto his face and stared into space, as Jesse’s heavy head rested against his chest.

  


_Tic tic_ , the spoon met the mug. _Tic._ The spoon switched to the first joint on his thumb, which removed the ticking. He sat there watching people rush through the room, as usual, in silence with a mug of coffee in front of him. Days passed and he still remained taken hostage by past memories and too much introspection. He grunted and stirred the coffee.

Someone touched his back and sat down next to him; he recognized that touch: gentle and careful, someone who cared. There existed only one person who cared about anyone as much as her. Angela smiled and sat with a tea. She returned from running and her sweaty forehead captured few strands of damp hair.

“How are you?” She asked.

He shrugged. He never asked why she returned to this place, probably for similar reasons he did? “Why did you come back?” He whispered while staring into the crowd.

Angela inhaled and followed his gaze. “You know why I left. This is exactly why I came back. Maybe now, we will finally do the good we were supposed to?”

“ _We_?”

“You are here, too. Why?” Her question sounded shifty.

He paused before answering, licking his lips and looking down. “I did not have much of a choice.”

“There always is a second choice.”

“No.” He shook his head with a scoff and sipped on the beverage. “How is Fareeha?” He asked in return. Angela noticed he evaded her investigation. Her lips twirled mischievously. “Good. How is Jesse?”

He sighed and gave her a look. “You should know that better than me, doctor Ziegler.”

She laughed amused - she still loved the way he pronounced her last name. As she calmed down, she kissed his cheek and pulled him in for a one-armed hug. “I am glad that you are here, Jack.”

Jack smiled weary and replied with a non-verbal _likewise._ Then he wiped off his mouth and cleared his throat as though he wanted to talk about something. She noticed and waited for him.

“I did not mean to do that.”

She furrowed her brow. “What are you talking about?”

“The other day; when I tossed that guy out of the window.”

Angela said nothing. He knew how she thought about things like that.

“I sometimes feel like I do things without knowing that I do them. Anger blinds me to the extend of a prolonged rage, and when it’s over, it feels like waking up out of a nightmare. I’m scared that, one day, I will do something horrible, or hurt someone I love. I wish I knew how to turn that off.”

“Well,” she let her index finger trace the edge of her teacup, “I am not psychiatrist, but I am sure that, however intense it is, you won’t do that. That fear is understandable, of course. Do you want help with that?”

He frowned confused. “No… I mean, I don’t know.”

“Take your time and maybe try to not overdo things. You of all people deserve some time to relax.”

“I tried. I can’t. When I sit or do nothing, I think too much about things.”

“Go golfing.” She shrugged.

He chuckled and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Seriously?”

“Why not. You’re the perfect age for that.”

“I rather stirr my own shit.”

“Jack!”

 

 

He woke up out of a dream and sat straight up on the bed. Jesse did not know what time it was and tried to rid himself of the sensations that dream left on him. His shirt clung to his sweaty skin and he ran a hand through his still wet hair. It took too long to dry. Since it was wet, he thought, he guessed only few hours passed since he tried to sleep after a long bath. He did not take that bath alone: Jack joined him because he feared Jesse to faint and drown, or something like that. A welcomed excuse to be together in hot water. Not too much later, Hanzo almost caused a leak as he, as well, dropped between the two of them. Luckily, the floors were well made and nothing happened to the rooms below them. Three people in one bathtub become an overkill, hence why they decided to move to somewhere else.

Jesse stared at the muted show they were watching, pictures flickered on the screen and he slept through three episodes.  _ Three hours,  _ he thought and glanced back across his shoulder. His left hand touched his face and wiped down across damp facial hair. It fell on his lap and he moved back down. His desire to continue sleeping vanished as his eyes danced across the ceiling. Jesse rolled about on the bed, trying to find a good position to gain comfort, but he failed, rolled back on his back, crossed his legs, stretched his arms, his legs, and eventually groaned annoyed as his head lay too low and evenly on the mattress. He wanted some support, a pillow maybe… or an arm. It woke Hanzo, a sleeper as unlucky as him, and he placed his warm hand on Jesse’s chest. A motion to make him stop move around. Jesse exhaled and gave him a judgemental side-eye.

“You know,” Jesse started - he could not say much more.

“Here it comes.” Hanzo replied croaky. “An American wisdom.”

Jesse grimaced mockingly and rested his eyes on the window. “I thought about how when we all go to the armory, is it a polyarmory?”

“Jesse,” Hanzo sighed. 

Jesse snickered and mentally applauded for his wits. “I can’t sleep. Do you know any thrilling stories?”

After a while, Hanzo tried his best attempt: “Once, my grandmother tried to bake me a cake. She was not very much into cooking or baking, you must know. She almost set the kitchen on fire. Everyone was screaming…. only my brother just watched in awe.”

“Where is the thrilling part?”

“The cake turned out to be great.”

“That is more of a plot twist.”

“I am not the best story-teller.”

Jesse shifted closer to Hanzo, since he wanted some attention and that’s where he could find it. However, he exhausted too quickly still and remained in a motionless position. Hanzo propped his face on his fist, once on his side, and watched him with some concern in his eyes. 

“We could also perform safe sex, wherein you bind me to the bed frame so that I won’t fall down.” Jesse chuckled again at his own joke. 

Hanzo rose one brow and looked at him baffled. “Maybe they have to lower the dose of your medicine, since you seem to be too high on it.”

Jesse made a nasal noise. 

“Jack is finally sleeping, and you make such impeccable demands.” 

“I am a simple man, Hanzo, I grew up in a desert and I’m still dry as hell.” He paused and whispered: “I could really use some fun, though; I have been in that hospital room for what felt like an eternity.”

“Then you ought to be more careful next time.”

Jesse smacked his lips. “Yeah.” Then he leaned his face a little closer and sniffed.  _ God, he smelled good.  _ That wasn’t helping. He liked not seeing much right now, and simply relying on his sense of smell and the sense of hearing. Touch would work, too. He noticed Hanzo relaxing again and let his sneaky hand trail down to his crotch. Hanzo bemoaned the maneuver and Jesse swiftly moved the hand back to his chest. Although Hanzo needed more time to wake up, he did not mind the desire in his partner as much as the fact that Jack slept peacefully right next to them. He disliked waking him up either for this, or because they were too… intense. The latter made him feel awkward, too. 

Jesse gave up and lay there for a while, imagining things, then his mind trailed off and he watched the moon peeping at them through the window. The screen turned off by itself, and suddenly, the dark rested on their faces. He looked down at his feet under the blanket, illuminated by the moon, and he wiggled his toes. How peaceful, indeed. 

To his pleasure, Jack grumbled and moved close enough for Jesse to feel his breath on his neck. That used to be the time when he wake up, 4 hours of sleep, not enough but better than nothing. Jesse cleared his throat and Hanzo, half dozing, opened one eye.

“You are impossible.” He ranted a little too loud. It made Jesse chortle. 

“Jack,” Jesse started and he received a mumbled  _ yes,  _ “do you know any puns?”

“What?”

“Any good ones?”

“I am half awake, you talk too much… how good can it be?”

Then a kiss landed on his cheek, on right, where Jack rested. The lips didn’t move away and he expelled enjoyment. He moved his arms up and held onto the frame because he liked that, and he wanted a full treatment. Sometimes, he thought, one deserves that. Finally, someone removed that shirt off of him, he could not say who though, since he had his eyes sealed shut and waited for surprises. 

Jack ran his fingertips lazily across the skin on the inside of Jesse’s arm. They were cool and Jesse wanted them on his crotch, since that place was a wildfire. Then Jesse’s wrists were held in place by his other hand and he arched his back slightly in excitement. 

“Do we need like a safe word?” Jesse mumbled. “Banana, for example?” 

Jack kissed him and spoke between short sessions: “You are going to talk the whole time?”

“If you want me to? I can read y’all a story? That would be funny!”

Jesse allowed Jack’s lips to rest on his neck, nuzzling his skin off and on without much ado.  _ Is that an agreement?  _ He liked to entertain. “I made pancakes once for someone, I forgot who,” He said. Simultaneously moving his legs to help Hanzo take off his sweatpants. “And I gave them the browner ones, and they said that they don’t want them because they were too ripe. So, I - oh, my God!” 

A mouth enclosed the heat down there and it made things worse. After a while, he got used to it and breathed in rhythm with the moves. Breathless, he said: “What a dick move.”

It was good though, the mouth and the hands, holding on his hips, telling him how to move. He did not have the energy for more, anyway. Fingers, slowly warming up, striding across his skin effortlessly. The mouth left him hot and wet, to continue on his stomach and he did not want it to stop. 

Hanzo straddled him and watched him for a while after pulling the white blanket away. He never spent too much time looking at him, and he enjoyed the sight: his muscles were differently shaped than his. Of course they were, since they enjoyed a different kind of training. His legs were stronger and his stomach softer. He touched his neck and let his hand trail toward his chest, which made Jesse moan and then shudder as he reached his stomach. Hanzo wondered if he would like it that way, teased him a bit more, and made attempts to find out. He waited for the  _ banana _ , no matter how he ridiculous he found that. 

He prepared his hand to reach down and stimulate him a bit more, slow and tender, he felt him tense up more on his backside. Then, Hanzo guided him closer before he eased him in and moved lower until he was satisfied. His eyes closed and he focused on what was inside him.

Jesse moved his arms as he wanted to touch his chest or his legs, wherever he made it, but he forgot that Jack held his wrists, still. Jack reminded him on the deal with a muffled “ah!” as though he needed a reminder. Hanzo’s eyes opened due to that and leaned forward to find a way to secure his hands on the frame. As he did, with a shirt, Jesse tried to nibble on his face through a curtain of silky, black hair. 

Hanzo moved back up and watched him lick his dry lips. He rode him for a little longer, until he became bored of the same old dance and looked at Jack, who just lay there, watching them.  _ How rude! _

He reached out and pulled on the collar of his shirt. “You could take that off.” He said.

Jack chuckled juvenile; out of a sudden he seemed twenty years younger. He followed the command and undressed, and Hanzo fed hungrily on that event, the scarred body, and the pretty grey hair. The dog tags there, dangling on his chest - one of his, and one of Reyes. 

Hanzo liked when he laughed like that: a little sheepish, a glint of humor in his eyes and some daring courage that sent him on his knees to kiss his neck. All while Hanzo was still on Jesse, the heat inside him, and he continued moving. The kisses on the back of his neck increased his own fervor, so he stretched his arms and moved down to give Jesse the kiss he wanted. The lips were brittle, in need for nourishment, and he did not hesitate to help it. 

Jack’s lips travelled down his spine while his hands held tight on his waist before one disappeared and felt Jesse breathe out in a blissful moan. This was were the hand went, and the moaning became louder the longer it lasted. Then the hand left him and pushed Hanzo forward, closer down on Jesse, as he decided that it was his turn. For once Hanzo did not defy his commanding nature and waited for it. 

Out in the cold, Jesse pulled on his restraints because he felt abandoned. Hanzo’s great skill in kissing did not make up for it but what could he do. Wait and watch, perhaps? Listen to the staccato of sighs, warm breath on his skin like a little piano solo telling a story. 

Hanzo rested his hand on Jesse’s bicep and the other pushed into the mattress below them. He demanded more speed since he liked it somewhat harsher at times, but not too harsh because that made him uncomfortable. Just a good speed in between and the right position had him lean his forehead against the one of Jesse’s, both damp, and he closed his eyes again. Jack just kept on moving, holding Hanzo’s chest and there was nothing else on his mind. He felt like a sleepwalker, joy rippling through his body, in a fine, synchronized dance with his partner. Jack made him moan and he enjoyed that very fact. He let his teeth tease the skin on the neck and let his hand grab some of the long, black hair. Hanzo rose and watched Jesse squirm, did he enjoy that? He doubted it, and felt selfish. So he caressed his chest and the stomach, the sides of his thighs and the skin on his crotch as Jack pulled him closer, off of Jesse’s lap. Hanzo bend forward again, and stretched like a tired cat. He wanted more than and pressed against Jack behind him, clenched his muscle around him to make him add some spice. 

Jesse found it stimulating enough, and when Hanzo started kissing and licking the inside of his thighs, every damn spot except for his cock. He threw his head back and tried not to yell. It was when Jack moved in the pace Hanzo wanted, that he continued where he started. Jesse sighed relieved and allowed him to do it… as slow as he wanted. Which he was good at. Jesse regretted forwarding the idea of being bound to the frame, since he wanted to touch something. His head, or his hands. 

Hanzo travelled upward and kissed his chest, burying his face there as he felt Jack tense up and pushing his hands down on the small of his back. The intenser the thrust, the higher his lips moved and he snuck a glance at Jesse, who just really needed a hand. Hanzo slid back on his lap and took his face in both hands to surprise him with a heated kiss. Jack’s teeth found grip in the bend of Hanzo’s neck, not too badly, and Hanzo’s arm shot around as he felt Jack’s release inbound. He grabbed his thigh and forced him to stay inside until he was done. Jack did not mind and gave himself enough before pulling out and removing that ugly blue thing. Blue wasn’t looking great down there, he should have gotten pink ones. 

Meanwhile, Jesse fought with himself and Hanzo was so kind to finally help him reach that. One way or the other, he would get what he wanted. Hanzo started to push his finger inside him and stimulate him as slowly as he did before with his mouth. Jesse winced and squirmed, licking the thumb tracing his lips until Hanzo himself had enough. He directed Jesse’s legs and watched his face as he entered him inch by inch, until he was where he wanted to be. He secretly wanted to make him scream in pleasure, because he was good at that. From slow to fast within one wink of an eye, he succeeded and rested his hands on Jesse’s thigh until he felt euphoria taking over. He released and kissed Jesse’s cheek as apology. The he loosened the makeshift rope and moved down on him. Trailing down the chest, until he was there again, and this time Jesse could hold his head in place, digging through his hair, desperately pushing until he came loud and clear. Jack kissed him and half of his comments suffocated beneath that kiss. 

Jesse was wet and sweaty in three different places, with lips on his and a mouth performing gentle aftercare. 

Finally, he replied the kiss after calming down. 


End file.
